


If You Go Out to the Woods

by bubbysbub



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (And they do), Bilbo is not quite sure what is going on, But he's going to take care of these dwarves, Canon Died, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Fanon is not fairing well either, Hobbit Culture, M/M, Threesome, Whether they like it or not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 79,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbysbub/pseuds/bubbysbub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At no point in the accidental usurpation of Thorin as leader of The Company and the quest for Erebor, did Bilbo intend for this to turn into an exploration of cultural differences (and something that almost feels like group therapy). For some reason, the Dwarrows aren't complaining, and Bilbo isn't going to question it, as long as the lumoxes behave themselves and do as they're told. </p>
<p>Who knows, they all might yet survive this insane journey.</p>
<p>(Or, where Bilbo decides the Dwarves are all too stupid for him to endure this ridiculousness anymore and Does It Hobbit and the Dwarves suddenly get affectionate.)</p>
<p>*Please note, within this story there are mentions of the underage rape and subsequent pregnancy of an off-screen character. Mentions are brief in chapter 2, and a little more in depth chapter 4. While details are light and are more discussions of emotional aftermath, this may still be distressing to read for those with triggers. Please be cautious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Er, another little thing I have been tapping away at. My attempt to do something a little different from standard Fanon. You'll see what I mean as time goes on.
> 
> I generally prefer book canon, but this starts at the end of the first movie, since who doesn't adore Bilbo's dramatic saving of Thorin's life and the subsequent Hug Of MakeAFandomSqueal?

Brought to safety by giant eagles, the relief and unreserved joy at realising that not only are you alive, so are all your companions and your destination in mind, all suddenly right and wonderful in the world on top of that great slab of rock sticking out of the ground. 

And Bilbo suddenly, sort of.. snapped.

Honestly, _Dwarves_. They were completely infuriating. After that hug, you would think that he would be able to enjoy the feeling of being somewhat more magnanimous in regard to these insensible Dwarrows and their stupid, stupid ways, but then Thorin had to go and open his big stupid mouth and ruin it.

"We'll stay up here for the night and climb down tomorrow," he pronounced.

Bilbo stared at him a moment, as the Company all pretty much collapsed tiredly where they stood, because, well, they had bugger all after that little jaunt through the Goblin Caves, and nothing left to set up in terms of making camp. Bilbo, however, cast an eye out North of their current position and then back to the dwarves, and his head began to shake involuntarily. No. Just no.

No.

"I don't think so," Bilbo stated calmly, taking the three steps necessary to reach Thorin-bloody-impossible-Oakenshield. It was a testament to his state of mind that even though he knew he had little hope of shifting the King-of-the-rocks, he still very deliberately started the process of hauling said rock to his feet. A testament to how _Thorin_ was feeling that he let Bilbo get away with it, standing again even though it _had_ to be painful to do so -and Bilbo knew that part of this insane decision came from the fact that Thorin had very recently almost died and no doubt was feeling half dead to boot, but _still_ \- and looked at Bilbo in concerned bemusement.

"No," Bilbo added, to emphasise his point, shaking his finger pointedly in Thorin's face, and tugging him over towards the rather scary sort of staircase running its way down the side of the stone eyot they found themselves upon.

"No?" Thorin asked with a fair amount of confusion. For the moment, Thorin was allowing his own magnanimous attitude towards annoying Hobbits to dictate his very mild response to being tugged around, but the others were all still sitting. _Sitting_.

" _No_ ," Bilbo emphasised, gesturing to them sharply, before turning back to the 'stairs'. Really, calling them stairs was a bit of stretch, more like great smooth slabs of rock carved in a vague could-be-stairs if one was a giant. He'd have to sit to get down to the first. There was no way that he would feel in any way safe trying to jump down- especially this far up. Yes, he nodded to himself, sitting was the safer way to go. He did just that, sitting on the edge and wiggling forward and allowing himself to fall to the next. 

"Lad, what are you doing?" Dwalin asked, but his tone didn't get much past tired exasperation, and he was at least standing, moving to the edge of the first 'stair' as if he was going to follow, so they were making some progress, surely.

"Down," Bilbo answered, and wow, what was it about the current situation that Bilbo's normal ease of verbosity had completely escaped him at present? 

"Maybe he's afraid of heights?" Dwalin put to Thorin, who was half leaning on his friend by this point, and although Bilbo was sorry about that, he still rolled his eyes and turned to head to the next 'step' of the winding set. This one was just that bit taller, and Bilbo gulped a little before sitting carefully. Honestly, why did nothing seem to be sensibly sized out in the wilds?

"Bilbo!" Thorin called as he dropped down and apparently disappeared from sight. 

"Down!" he called back in irritation, heading for the next drop with a sigh. Honestly, he was as exhausted as the rest of them, he'd had one _hell_ of a day, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was _climbing_ , let alone arguing with a bunch of stone-headed, stubborn Dwarrows. Let them follow or not, there was no way that he was staying up there.

For the next hour, he concentrated purely on the making progress down the stone peak, the vague sense of urgency at the back of his head warring with the old cautionary 'slow and steady wins the race and prevents horrific brain-splattering falls'. The light quality was beginning to fall, and while that wouldn't be a problem for the idiots cursing and clattering somewhere behind him -apparently, they had decided to follow- it would add another element of absolute horridness to this whole mess if Bilbo didn't get down from this ridiculous 'Carrock' soon.

Finally, finally, _finally_ he drew level with the surrounding tree tops, and even though it was gloomier once he passed that point, it was a lot easier going, and he felt a lot safer about speeding up some, what with all the convenient tree branches around, to the point where one came so close that he paused and shrugged, reaching out to grab the bough, and scramble straight downwards, bypassing the twisting around the rock for the simpler course of straight down the tree.

Toes finally buried into cool damp earth was wonderful, grounding and relieving, and oh, it was so, so tempting to simply lie down right here. But no, his dwarves were tired and injured and so very stupid, and Gandalf had already taken off to find some friend that lived around here, the giant, apparently, who had carved the impossibly sized stairs into the thing he had named 'Carrock'. It was on Bilbo, now, to organise this terribly idiotic bunch, and hopefully get them all functional before the next catastrophic event.

Bilbo sighed and shook himself, blinking rapidly, and deliberately turned and kicked the tree trunk beside him as hard as he could. The sting and sudden ache made him swear, but gave him a jolt, the world not so blearily dragging. There had been no rest now, since they had climbed the Misty Mountains in the middle of a storm, the Stone Giants coming alive around them. It had been almost non-stop adrenalin and terror since then, and Bilbo knew he couldn't keep going for much longer before he collapsed in a heap and slept for the next day or so. Preparations had to be made, because there was no way on all of Arda's greenery was he going to spend another night doing it the Dwarvish way.

A distant, ever so faint rumble woke him a little more, and he took note of his position before setting out. Close to the monumental stone he had just clambered down would be best, the trees were dense and the rock vast and jutting, surely there would be something suitable at some point around it? 

A half hour of searching had him considering a happy dance of glee, with what he had found, but he hadn't the energy to spare; instead, he worked his way around to where he thought the dwarves might come down, almost shouting in happiness at the discovery of a _stream_ \- honestly, it was like the Valar themselves were taking pity on him this night. Hopping around a clump of trees, he was happily plucking up mushrooms and herbs and cooing over the thick mounds of heather, drifting towards the faint reassuring sound of Dwarven curses, when he saw it.

Theoretically, he thought, stepping forward and carefully running his fingers over the grooves carved into the tree in front of him, he had always known that it was a possibility. Over the last few months, it had been a comforting little daydream. Realistically, he had thought it highly unlikely. But there it was on the tree. 

Hobbits, it declared, were nearby.

Another ever so faint noise from the North made him swear, as it was far too late to drop everything and go investigating. It was well and truly time to go and round up the Company; by the sounds of their shouts and increasingly worried calls of his name, they had reached the bottom and were no doubt believing him to be abducted by elves, or something equally ridiculous. Following kin-marks was going to have to wait.

"Hush," he commanded irritably as he stamped back into the mass of grumpy males, thinking longingly of the little pile of leaves he had stashed in his pocket just ten minutes before. Exhaustion was creeping at the edges of his vision again and making his thoughts a bit muzzy, and his sensitive Hobbit ears pricked again at faint sounds in the distance.

"What," Bofur actually managed to sound irritated with him, "was the point of scurrying down all that way _tonight_ instead of in the morning, eh?"

"Can we sleep now?" Ori mumbled.

"No," Bilbo denied shortly. He shook his own head a bit; just a little more. He could do this. 

"Right," he started. "Have any of you got some sort of bag, something for carrying?" Nori wordlessly detached a sorry, mostly empty backpack from his person and handed it over, and Bilbo gratefully piled what supplies he had found in the bag, slinging it onto his front so he could continue filling it as they went.

"Okay, we don't have much time. We're going that way, and as we go, you're going to collect as much of these three things as possible. The bark of that type of tree, there, the white one. Those of you with knives will cut and strip as much bark as you can carry. The rest of you, as much of this purple-flowered bush as possible- roots and all if need be, and as much of this type of green fernery as you can carry. Nothing wet, the dry stuff only, but nothing hard, just young, soft growth. Clear?" Bilbo sighed at the look on their faces, all grumpy and tired and completely confused. Fortunately, they were tired enough that it was quite beyond them to expend much energy on fighting, and when he barked decisively at them to move it, they barely even spared a glance at Thorin, just tiredly moving to do as asked. 

"Why are you forcing them into this?" Thorin asked him lowly, even as he cut a wide, deep strip of white bark from a tree with slow, sluggish movements. Bilbo felt a twinge of guilt at the sight of his pained expression, but steeled himself. They had no time for this.

"Because," he muttered back tiredly. "You lot will be the death of me at this rate." 

Thorin leaned onto the tree for a moment, cut swathes of bark hanging over his shoulder, bleary eyes assessing him. Bilbo ignored him for the moment, yanking up another plant whose roots he knew were safe, and somewhat tasty, to eat. Into the bag it went, and he sighed, leaning back and letting his eyes slide shut for the barest of moments.

"I need it, tonight. Just for tonight, can we be Hobbits, not Dwarves?" he slurred, jerking his eyes open when he felt himself sway a little. A hand on his shoulder stopped him from lurching to the ground, and Bilbo could barely get his eyes to focus enough to see Dwalin haul him upright.

"None of that. You're leading us tonight. Gotta stay awake." 

"Hmmm," was the only reply he could give, but he straightened himself again, opening his eyes as wide as he could and headed towards his destination. The density and variety of mushrooms lying about would have any other time delighted his little Hobbity self, but for the moment, it was all he could do to make sure he didn't accidentally add one of the odd little blue-streaked ones that was poisonous for himself, or one of the yellow spotted varieties that he couldn't be sure was safe for a Dwarrow. Creams, Browns and some lovely little nutty ones all went into his bag, and he vaguely lamented the lack of butter. 

Another noise made his ears wiggle furiously, a spike of nervous adrenalin waking him up again.

"Quickly," he urged them. "Hurry, this way," he fussed, dodging through the underbrush to the spot he had found, praying that it was big enough for their needs. Not that he wanted it too big, oh no, too big could bring its own problems. But enough room to stretch his legs would be nice, he thought. "Here," he told them, leading them up sharply towards an overhang of the eyot they had just climbed down. Grabbing a convenient branch, he pulled himself up and behind a tree trunk, into the concave little space behind the trees.

"Nice," Nori congratulated when he had joined Bilbo, turning in a circle to view the space. It wasn't really a cave, nowhere near deep enough to call it a cave. But the rock jutted out above them, and was smooth and flat beneath them and a good two feet off the ground below, and the trees formed a wall along half of the front. "Dump the bushes down at the back here," he told them as they cursed their way up and into the little hidey hole he had found. "Place the largest pieces of bark over the top."

"What is it?" Glóin asked when they had all done as asked.

"A bed," Bilbo sighed, longingly, and the Company all groaned in delight, seeming to take a step forward as one.

"No!" Bilbo admonished. "We don't have time yet. Soon." Again, as one, they all seemed to turn and glare as an entity, and Bilbo would have been laughing his arse off if his ears weren't warning him to _hurry up_. 

"Right, anyone with a water skin, hand them to Ori, stream's two minutes straight down that way, lad, hurry now. The rest of you, I need some of those rocks down there hauled up and made into a wall, here, and gosh," he wondered, looking up. "Is there any way, do you think, to get those branches woven more densely just there? Close in the space under our roof?"

Nori shimmied up a nearby branch, peering up over their rock 'roof'. "There's large rocks here," he called. "We could force the tree branches down and under. I'll need Dori, though."

"How big are the rocks?" Bilbo called back, worrying slightly. If they weren't big enough, strong winds could dislodge the lot and cause extra problems. 

"Big," Nori grinned. "As big, or bigger, than our Bombur!" 

Bombur flipped him one, and that actually earned a laugh. Glóin was already hoisting rocks off the forest floor around the Carrock into their new little home, and Balin, Óin, and Bifur were stacking them expertly into a neat, solid little wall. Dori slipped up the same tree as Nori had, muttering to himself about the amount of tree climbing he had been doing today, and Bilbo grabbed Thorin as he headed to help with the wall.

"Sit!" he ordered, pointing back to their nice thick 'bed' the Dwarrows had unwittingly created. "You're white as a sheet," he insisted when Thorin's face turned mulish.

"Do as he says," Dwalin said behind Bilbo quietly, stepping up to his King. "We can handle this," he urged. Thorin grudgingly leaned into Dwalin's bulk, assessing Bilbo again with tired but puzzled eyes. 

"You're taking care of us," he murmured as Dwalin nudged him towards the pile of bedding.

"Someone has to," Bilbo yawned. "The lot of you are harebrained and hopeless." 

"Who does that sound like to you?" Bilbo heard Dwalin chuckle as he turned, looking around for Bofur.

"Question," he asked, unable to stop another yawn escaping as he tugged his friend from wall building. "Is there any chance of tunnelling a little into this rock?" he nudged the rock under them with his foot.

"Whatchya mean?" Bofur yawned his reply, unable to help himself after witnessing Bilbo's.

"About this far from the edge," Bilbo explained, tilting his head to try and find the words to show what he needed. "About my arm's length deep, and about this round," he said, holding his hands up to show. "And then a tunnel out from there to the edge, sloping up as it goes out."

Bofur stared at him a moment before he started tapping at the rock around them with his mattock. He pulled a small pick from... somewhere and gouged a little in a few places. 

"Here," he announced, "or over here. Maybe there, too, but it would need to be a little further in."

"How long?" Bilbo asked. Bofur grinned at him

"Five minutes."

"And if I want all three?"

Bofur's grin widened and he winked dramatically, pick already working and Bilbo slumped in relief, patting his friend in thanks on his funny hatted head. He padded over to the others, sleepily amazed at their work.

"You don't mess around," he commented, taking in the almost chest-height wall of stone. Bifur grunted in acknowledgement and clapped him on the shoulder, before wandering off to help Bofur.

"We know stone work," Glóin said proudly. They definitely did, Bilbo thought, pushing a little on the rock and admiring the way it was all braced and built using logs and tree trunks as supports. It was not coming down without a lot of effort. There was a gap at the end for squeezing in and out, and Dori and Nori, with the help of Bombur, had finished bending some of the surrounding tree branches inwards, the resulting thicker canopy thick and sloping and covering the space above the wall under their roof. Their little space was pretty much enclosed now, and quite dark, and Ori joined the others with standing staring at Bilbo expectantly after placing the water skins to the side. 

"Fuel for fire," he told them after a brief moment of wondering why they were all staring at him, followed by another brief moment of wondering why they were still letting him boss them around. "Fuel for fire and we'll be set. And none too soon," he commented as thunder rolled, quite a lot closer this time. The others all stiffened.

"A storm?" 

"Duh?" Bilbo said, shaking his head. "Dwalin, is Thorin bleeding anywhere? Do we need to get him bathed?"

"There's a trickle on the side," Dwalin told him, poking around at Thorin's side, while Thorin tried to push him off.

"Right, strip him and bring him. We've only got fifteen minutes or so till this starts to set in. The rest of you, grab enough for to burn three decent fires for the night and then get cleaned up. Quickly now!" he urged, when they looked at him oddly.

"Lad, we just closed this whole little area in. Fire in here is going to smoke us out again," Glóin said gently.

"You Dwarrows are not the only folk that live underground, you know. I am well aware of what can and can't be done with fire in an enclosed space," Bilbo sighed. " _Trust_ me," he pushed when they all still looked dubious. "Fifteen minutes, and you all still need a wash. Move it!"

"Dwalin," he barked, turning, grinning when he saw Dwalin had stripped down to braies 'n tunic himself as well. "Good, Ori could show you the stream and help with the washing of his Majesty here."

"I don't need _help_ ," Thorin insisted, even as he swayed violently on his feet, saved from hitting the ground only by Dwalin's great paw gently guiding him back into Dwalin's side. 

"Course you don't," Dwalin grunted as he handed Ori his warhammer and herded Thorin out of their little bower. "You can help _me_."

"Right," Bilbo muttered, counting off Dwarf compatriots as they set about dumping armfuls of branches and dry leaf in one corner of the enclosure before stripping and trotting off towards the stream. "Thorin and Dwalin, Ori, Bombur and Glóin. Balin, Nori and Óin, check. Dori, oh yes, thank you Dori. Bofur and Bifur, oh!" he exclaimed, darting over to the dwarves brushing rock dust off their clothing. "Those holes are _perfect_ ," he gushed, hugging the two quickly.

"You going to let me in on the secret to these little burrows here?" Bofur asked, dumping his bits onto the pile of weapons and other bits and bobs that was growing next to their 'bed' for the night.

"Soon," Bilbo reassured, shooing them on when a low rumble sounded, a lot closer again.

"Wait," Bilbo frowned to himself, as the Ur cousins took off down the slope. "Where are Fíli and Kíli?"

A quick look around revealed no youngsters, and truthfully, Bilbo could not recall seeing them since they had stood at the foot of the Carrock. Swearing, Bilbo headed out, back tracking the way they had come while, calling their names all the while. 

"What are you yelling for?" Fíli finally answered, suddenly appearing from behind a tree, Kíli faithfully trailing behind him.

Bilbo wasted no time, beyond a small shriek at being startled, and stomped forward, grabbing each dwarf by an ear and dragging them down to his level. 

"Where have you been," he hissed at them, pinching their ears until they both yelped.

"You told Thorin you wanted to do things the Hobbit way tonight," Kíli exclaimed.

"And we thought that would involve food," Fíli agreed, trying to nod with the tight grip Bilbo still held. Almost in unison, they both lifted an arm, presenting their offerings with tired-but-victorious grins.

Bilbo's grip loosened, taking in the string of plump half-plucked birds Kíli held, and the fat Coney held by the back legs by Fíli.

"It was all we could find," Fíli apologised. "But we set a few snares in case something wanders in the night."

"I only managed the birds because they were trying to outrun the weather," Kíli shrugged sheepishly. "Did you know there's a storm coming this way? We were just about to go warn Thorin."

"He knows," Bilbo sighed. "The two of you are a mess. Come with me," he ordered, marching off in the direction of the stream.

"I don't know if this is enough to feed us all," Kíli fretted. "I was going to try for a few more rabbits."

"This is plenty," Bilbo reassured him. "I'm going to let the two of you finish plucking those birds, and I want them beheaded, feet removed and gutted before I touch them, because I _hate_ preparing birds. The Coney I'll do myself, since I can salvage a fair bit if it's healthy."

"Eh?" Kíli tilted his head to the side a little, almost colliding with a tree in the process, which set Fíli to snickering. "Shut it," Kíli swore at his brother, hefting the birds over his shoulder, seeming to be oblivious to the mess it made to his leathers and Bilbo's subsequent cringe. "Aren't you just going to spit the lot?" he asked Bilbo.

"Not enough meat to just roast them," Bilbo sighed. "It is a good rabbit," he reassured, clambering over a fallen log. "Fat off clover and wild berries. And while I'm not entirely certain as to what the birds are -they sort of look like pheasants, but a lot darker and larger than I've ever seen them, and a heck of a crest as well- they should be good eating. But spit roasting will take too long and there isn't enough meat to make a meal for thirteen Dwarrows and a Hobbit. I'm afraid that they will have to be cooked the Hobbit way."

At the edge of the stream, Bilbo promptly relieved Fíli of rabbit and knife, already slicing through the neck even as Fíli complained about the use of his favourite boot knife. "You have about eight others stashed around your person," he snapped. "Stop complaining and finish off those birds. And keep me some of the offal."

"We started plucking while we waited for more game to wander past," Fíli told him, expertly ripping feathers away and dumping them in a pile behind him. "Kíli was trying to get a few squirrels, but he kept missing."

"The squirrels around here are unnaturally fast," Kíli defended, chucking a freshly hacked bird claw at his elder. Bilbo reached out and smacked the both of them in quick succession, pointing at the birds. The boys got back to work as Bilbo dumped the skin next to him and cut the fluffy tail hair off with a sigh. Rabbits made him conflicted. They were delicious _and_ cute. At least at the moment, hunger outweighed any guilty twinges.

The guts, thankfully, looked healthy and free of parasites. He kept back the kidneys and the lungs and carefully cut the tiny bile duct from the liver as well. A quick check of the bird innards increased his little hoard- he had plans for that. The rest of the guts he quickly dumped into a hastily dug hole with the head, and washed the carcass, shoving the cleaned rabbit and bird offal back into the body to carry. 

"Are the two of you done yet?" he asked anxiously, gaze on the ever-blackening sky. 

"Pretty much." Kíli shoved the pile of disposable bits into the hole with the rabbit parts and started replacing the dirt, while Fíli copied Bilbo, swishing the three birds in the stream to clean them. Bilbo took up the string-and-pointy-unidentified-thingy combination that Kíli had the birds strung on and threaded all four bits of their dinner on, hands shaking with the stress. 

"You boys need to clean up. Strip and wash quickly, wipe down those filthy leathers as best you can. Hurry now," he fussed. "There's a cast to those clouds I do not like. There'll be hail in that lot. You have two minutes. I'll be sending someone down to get you!" he called over his shoulder as he took off up the slope.

To think that just a little while before he had been so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, he thought. The prospect of hail had him wide awake, though. 

Hail made all Hobbits nervous. His people were small folk, and while they were hardy for such small creatures, they could still be felled by the simplest of things. Bilbo had seen a distant cousin of his mother's brained by a hail stone when he had been a small lad of thirteen, and the sight of bits oozing out of ears and cracks in the head had made Bilbo hide under his bed at the slightest sign on a storm for years after.

Hobbits did not like hail. 

Bilbo spared the briefest moment to worry that nearby kin may not have made sufficient cover before brushing off the thought. He had not the time to worry, and Hobbits were not stupid beings. He had other things to worry over.

"Nori," he ordered as he came back into the cosy little hide-away. "I need you to go and fetch Fíli and Kíli from the stream. They're pretty much straight down and a little to the left. Hurry, hail is coming," he fretted, hurrying to the pile of kindling the Company had gathered.

"Where'd you get the meat?" 

"The lads," he muttered, shakily shoving a pile of kindling together on a sturdy piece of bark.

"You didn't bathe," Thorin stated quietly from where he was being fussed over by Dwalin and Óin, his side carefully stitched. Bilbo looked down at himself, covered in orc guts and rabbit blood and who knows what else. His whole body contracted inwards. 

Disgusting.

"But, the fires," he muttered weakly.

"Tell us what to do," Dori said tiredly, sitting down next to the wood pile. "We aren't completely useless."

Bilbo dithered a moment, before the thunder rolled deep and long, and the prospect of being clean wrestled the last of his sense of responsibility into submission, especially when naked furry Fíli and Kíli climbed into the shelter looking scrubbed and comfortable.

"Right," he hurried with his explanation. "Start a spark in this little pile here, and when you have a flame, tuck it into the bottom of one of these holes Bofur and Bifur got finished, and feed it with kindling and the big stuff until it's burning properly. Then stand back and gently fan the hole with a bit of bark or something to get the wind flow going. The smoke will start to flow out the end of the tunnel that comes out _outside_ our little shelter. Once you get the flow going, it won't flow back the other way. The fire will feed off air above it, and the smoke will flow out. Very simple chimney."

The entire company of dwarves stared at him silently.

"It will work, I promise," he reassured them a little desperately. "You see-"

"No, no," Glóin interrupted, "We believe you. Now go bathe. I think you're filthier than all of us were, and it seems to bother you a whole lot more too."

"Dwalin, go with him," Thorin ordered tiredly. Bilbo didn't wait to hear if Dwalin would argue or not, shooting down the hill even as the wind started to kick up. 

He didn't bother stripping, just plunged into the water, grabbing up handfuls of sand and gravel from the bottom of the stream and vigorously scrubbing the worst of the bits off his clothes, stripping off his sodden garments one by one as he went. Down to his britches, he ducked down and under, scrubbing through his hair and over his skin, coming up with a gasp of relief and delight, that turned to absolute fright as the thunder cracked hard and high above him, lightening splitting the sky a few seconds later. 

"Time to go, Burglar," Dwalin called from the bank of the stream, making Bilbo jump and squeak again, clutching his water-heavy clothing to his chest. Another crack and flash had him scrambling out of the water and hurrying up the hill, letting his dwarf guardian guide him over the uneven landscape.

"Fish," Bilbo told Dwalin, mid-scramble. Dwalin eyed him with brow furrowed as he hefted the smaller Hobbit over a bush, ignoring his squeak of indignation.

"Fish?"

"There's fish in that stream. I should have kept back a few bits of the bird innards for bait. We could have had fish for breakfast."

"Let's worry about breakfast in the morning, right?"

They climbed up through their little opening just as the rain started, and Bilbo turned and watched as the landscape was obscured when the shower turned torrential almost immediately.

"We owe you thanks again, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin said quietly as he came to stand beside Bilbo. " _I_ owe you thanks again."

"For what?" Bilbo asked tiredly. Thorin gestured behind him with a wince and Bilbo turned, searching for what their leader was motioning towards.

"Bilbo, it is raining," Thorin said. Bilbo frowned.

"What?" he asked, somewhat perplexed, looking around their enclosure for any sign of the blasted rain coming in, but as far as he could see, their hidey-hole was dry.

"It is raining, Bilbo. Raining, and already the sky is alight with lightening and the thunder rolls deep and fierce. Dwarrows do not care for thunder and lightening. We may have lived many years above ground, now, but we still find such things disturbing. Our very basic instincts scream at us to retreat into a nice, safe mountain, and to be unable to do so is disconcerting. It is raining, and windy and cold and setting in to hail, if you are correct. Yet we," he gestured again, a sweeping motion that made him wince again and jerk in pain and Bilbo step forward in worry, "we are dry, somewhat clean, warm by way of truly clever little fires, and with the promise of a bed that is not hard packed earth, and a comfortable rest for the evening after a truly horrible day. And there may even be food, if Fíli and Kíli ever let anyone cook it," he finished with a wry grin.

Bilbo stood stupefied and swaying slightly as he processed what was surely the most that he had ever heard Thorin speak to him without the constant air of disapproval before. Then he frowned.

"Fíli and Kíli what?" 

A quick search of the area found the two boys sitting with the meat behind them, staunchly defending the raw catch from the others.

"Bilbo wants to cook them Hobbit style!" Fíli defended, smacking Dori's hand when it reached for the meat for what looked like one of several attempts. Kíli was brandishing a stick and scowling at Glóin and Bombur, and both of the young lads were still as naked as they'd been when coming back from the stream, save for the fact that for some reason, they had both pulled their boots on.

Bilbo could only stare for a minute, before he abruptly started to giggle, leaning onto the closest solid surface as his giggles deepened and his stomach contracted. A hand bemusedly patting him on the head made him realise that the closest solid surface had been Thorin, and it should probable bother him that he was leaning against the firm chest of a dwarf that didn't very much like him, let alone the fact that the poor fellow was injured, but all he could bring himself to do in his sleep-deprived hysteria was pull back enough to pat his impromptu leaning post on the chest ( _warm skin, soft fur, lovely_ ) in apology, and stumble across the clearing to the boys to usher the group away from what would hopefully be dinner.

"Yes," he managed to choke out as the last of his giggles finally died away, "I'm cooking, and the lot of you can just go sit down on our sleeping area for the moment, I have something for you."

"But, dinner," Glóin complained, and Bilbo drew himself up.

" _Sit_ ," he demanded, glaring half-heartedly until the dwarves all grumpily shuffled to the bark bower. When it looked as if they would actually do as told, Bilbo hurried to collect the little pile of leaves he had been careful to keep separate from the rest of his foraging.

"Right then, Óin!" he called, catching the apothocist's attention and waiting for him to turn his head to listen with his good ear. "Have you given any of this lot anything for pain?"

"Argh, No, I lost most of me kit to those damnable Goblins. All I have is my ointments and my wound pack. I keep them in my pockets. Since this lot seem to get cut and scratched near _daily_."

"Good. Here, everyone take one of these," he instructed, handing them out. They were a funny leaf, one Bilbo was so happy to have found above all else in the forest below. A large, floppy round leaf with tiny tufts all around, a little furry, the colours -dark, dark green fading to a sick looking orange- dull and unappealing. If anything, they looked poisonous, and actually were, should one consume more than a few at a time. But when used carefully, they did have some extremely handy uses.

"Alright, now lick them." 

Bilbo felt he was quite justified in his sigh of frustration when his group of dwarves as one went from observing their leaves, to glaring at him in suspicion.

"No, honestly, at this point in the proceedings, do you really think that I would bother with this elaborate plan to murder you all? If I wanted to get rid of you, I'd just poison your dinner. That was a _joke_!" he scolded when their glares all turned thunderous. " _Honestly_. I'm not trying to off you and it isn't a prank. I see you trying to hide yours, Nori, there will be none of that. Now, all of you, _lick_!" He punctuated his demand with a stomp and some wild tossing of his arms in the air, and Thorin sighed loudly. Tentatively, he let the tip of his tongue graze a small patch of the leaf, huffing and grimacing at the taste. Beside him, Dwalin let out a rude snorting noise.

"Sissy little Mama's Boy," he growled at his king, and swiped one large tongue over the entire surface of his leaf, and Bilbo marvelled at how the large Dwarf could manage to make even _licking_ seem an aggressive act. The others, Thorin included, seemed to take that as a challenge though, Ori going so far as to lick both sides of his thoroughly before sticking it to his forehead and holding his arms in the air in triumph. Bilbo handed Thorin a second one.

"Why do I have to do that again?" he demanded, holding the second one out accusingly at Bilbo. "I feel like I've been licking lichen slick limestone."

"Because you're an idiot who doesn't think, and that's what you get for such impulsive foolhardy behaviour!" Bilbo roused at him, wiggling a finger in their leaders face until he licked the second leaf clean. "Good. Bifur, no _chewing_ , spit that out!"

"What now?" Bofur asked.

"Now," Bilbo scratched at his head. "Now I stand here and wonder if you lot really are too different from Men and Hobbits. It really should have kicked in by n-"

"Ooooh, that's nice," Thorin suddenly sighed in satisfaction, whole body going soft, and he practically melted back onto the pallet, arm waving in the air above his head. "That's, that's-" He cut himself off with a tiny murmur, eyes falling shut and crooning, breath falling into a huffing little sigh of a snore, twitching every now and again in his sleep like a great puppy.

Bilbo hummed.

"Perhaps I should have given all of you two, then y-"

"He's so _adorable_ ," Dwalin crooned, sliding down to lay cuddled up to his king, slinging an arm and a leg over the sleeping dwarf and burying his head into Thorin's shoulder, snuffling into a face-full of hair. Glóin let out a great rumbling snore and fell backwards, and Bombur curled around his beard with a snicker-snort as the others all lay down with yawns and murmurs. "You better not'r've poisoned my brothers, ickle Miss'a Bliblo,or I'llill _cut_ you. Schneeky Hobbutbut," Ori muttered thickly, swaying, as Nori finally collapsed onto Dori.

"I haven't, promise," Bilbo assured the young dwarf, helping him to make himself comfortable cuddled into his brothers. "They just all need a nice regenerative, pain-free nap, that's all. And when you wake, there will be dinner, promise." Ori hummed and wiggled before finally going as still as the others. Sighing again, Bilbo stood and surveyed his sleeping dwarves, eyes lingering on the Thorin and Dwalin. Thorin had curled into the other in his sleep and they were contentedly snuggled together, limbs entwined. The sight made him ache, deep in his chest, and he rubbed the spot absently.

"Now _those_ are some interesting leaves."

Bilbo yelped and leapt forward a step before he spun and glared murderously at the two still-naked boys behind him.

" _How_ do I keep missing the two of you? No, never mind," he shook his head when they both smiled wickedly, "come and lick your leaves and go to sleep with the rest of them." 

"But we're going to help you!" Kíli said, bouncing with eagerness, and, nope, not looking down.

"Kíli, stop bouncing," he muttered tiredly.

"We're not hurt or anything, and we can help with dinner. You probably need the sleep more than us, why don't _you_ lick a leaf and snuggle in with Thorin and Dwalin?" Fíli asked, crossing his arms and cocking his hip to the side, and oh dear, don't look down.

"I don't suppose you two would put some clothes on?" Bilbo asked, keeping his eyes raised. 

"Our clothes are still wet. Besides, you're in your skivvies." One of Kíli's long fingers poked him quite deliberately in his stomach, and he squeaked as he realised he was prancing about in his johns. 

"Where-?" he cut himself off, spinning around looking for his clothing. He knew he'd had the wet pile when they ran back from the river, but he had quite lost track of them since. His eyes widened, though, when he located the missing items. Over in the inner side of their little cave area, somebody had used sticks and ropes and rocks to pop up a drying area, a fact he had completely missed on arriving back from his bath. And somehow, his wet clothes were all neatly strung over the line, closest to the first of the deep fires. The boys followed his baffled gaze over to his dripping pants.

"Dwalin hung them, when you got back. Didn't you notice?" Fíli's gaze was amused and a little knowing, and Bilbo shifted a little uncomfortably.

"No, I did not, and no, I will not be sleeping until there is a meal for the Company prepared. And what do you mean, _snuggle with Thorin and Dwalin_? Do I look suicidal?" he hissed at Fíli, whose amusement only increased. Kíli was grinning knowingly at him as well, and please please please, he prayed, please may the two terrors not know of his completely inappropriate crushes on the two most unobtainable dwarves in existence.

"Come now, Bilbo, they wouldn't mind providing some much needed warmth. You did save our King tonight, after all. I'm sure they'd be honoured to offer you what comfort they could." Oh dear. Those smirks. That was enough of that.

"Go lick a leaf," he told them flatly. The two laughed in delight.

"You're sounding more and more like a dwarf every day, Mr Boggins. And no. We're helping. I'm quite good at cooking."

"He really is," Fíli assured. "He helps Mam out when she's busy with her work. She's an engraver, and her works sell quite well in the towns of men. And she helps run the mines, and takes her turns at watching the little dwarflings while their parents work. And she takes inventory of the city stores every fortnight. So she's often home late, or sometimes not at all. Kíli does a real good stew, if he puts his mind to it."

While Fíli talked, the two had moved over to sit beside the fire with the meats and the bag of bits Bilbo had collected, setting up flat-topped rocks with a few scrounged knives and some water skins, looking at him expectantly. 

"Bombur managed to hold on to his cook pot _and_ his ladle," Kíli said excitedly. "Bashed some goblin heads good and proper with them too. We cleaned them, though," he hurried to reassure Bilbo. "And some of the others have already set up a rig, for spit, but we fiddled to make it fit the pot, as well. What can we do?"

Bilbo made his way over, plonking himself down with a sigh. There really was no arguing with the two when they were like this. There really was no arguing when _Bilbo_ felt like he did.

"Firstly, is there any bark left? The white stuff the horde are laying on right now."

Fíli jumped up to retrieve a fairly large bit of the bark from the edge of the pile and held it up for Bilbo' inspection.

"Pop it out in the rain for a few moments," Bilbo directed him, pulling a rock and knife towards himself with the carcasses. "In that bag, I need everything I collected cleaned and chopped nice and small. Hold them up and show me before you do anything, and I'll tell you which bit we can use. Mushrooms can be sliced, but the little ones, leave them whole."

The boys did as asked, and the three worked silently for a while, Bilbo carefully cutting the little fat there was and putting it to the side, before carving the Coney into manageable pieces. Thank goodness for Bombur and his cook pot, or he would have had to have done it the difficult way with the bark, and that would have been messy

"You know," Fíli suddenly spoke, "a lot of people think my brother isn't very bright, the way he chatters on at people all the time. And with his big brown sincere eyes staring at them so earnestly, they can't help but let him waffle."

Bilbo stopped mushing offal for a moment to stare at Fíli bemusedly. Kíli had a little smirk on his face as he worked at some roots. 

"People tend to forget that I'm there half the time, or assume I'm just as daft. Those two silly young dwarflings, borne and raised half-wild, you know, not worth much attention. Makes it easy to observe people while Kíli keeps them distracted."

For a second, all of a sudden, seeing Kíli's sharp discerning gaze and hearing Fíli's calculating tone, it was like after all these months of travelling with the two, he didn't really know them at all.

"So, over the years, I've gotten very good at reading people. And you have been a very interesting person to read, Bilbo. Especially lately."

"Lately?"

"Hmmm," Kíli took over. "That first night in your Hobbit hole, and quite a nice hole it was, too!" he assured Bilbo cheerfully. "That first night, well, we didn't really know you. So, we may have kept a bit of an eye on you and your reactions to the different invaders of your hole."

"Hole invaders," Fíli snickered. "Point is, the casual onlooker would have taken your visible trembling to Dwalin as nothing more than the fear of a big strong warrior. Had you not been swaying into his presence as much as you shivered. And then, well, terribly interesting when Thorin arrived. Very interesting."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Bilbo asked tersely, returning to his mashing with renewed vigour.

"Nothing much," Kíli grinned, switching back to playful in an instant. "Just that we like you, Bilbo. You're cute. And very brave. Whatchya want us to do with these things now?"

"Get the pot heating," he answered numbly, idly finishing his preparation while the boys got the set-up ready above the largest fire. Perhaps exhaustion was causing hallucinations, given that Fíli and Kíli were all of a sudden just two naked silly boys throwing discarded stems at each other and tussling. 

Exhaustion, definitely an issue, he thought as his eyes crossed for a moment. It was warm in their little camp; this sort of fire tended to be a more focused, hotter burning heat, and the enclosing at the top of their shelter kept them from shivering in the cold damp air from outside. It was warm, and he was relaxing here, most of the Company snoring happily to the side, a sound he had become accustomed to, a reassuring sound that made him want to relax, settle in, maybe close his eyes for a moment...

"Bilbo!" A hand clapped down on his shoulder and shook him, and he jolted from where he was leaning dangerously close to the knife he carelessly held in his hand. Fíli took it from him, and shook him again, gently.

"You can sleep once you've put this together. Otherwise I may take over, and you don't want _that_."

"No, we really don't," Kíli shuddered. "You can let Fíli help with preparation, but never let him cook. It doesn't end well for anyone."

"Precisely," Fíli agreed. "So, pot's hot, what now?"

"Grab that bark from out of the rain," Bilbo sighed, rubbing at his face. He was supposed to be looking after his dwarves, not collapsing in a heap. He threw a small handful of fat into the pot with a few of the herbs he had found that the boys had chopped, and prodded at the mess until it started melt together. It only took a moment for the smells to become quite nice, his stomach thought, as it rumbled loudly. He threw his chopped rabbit meat into the pot and tossed it about as Fíli tried to ring the rain water out of his moustaches. 

"It's definitely been hailing. Not big stuff, and not a lot, but there's a few little bits of ice here and there on the ground out there. How'd you know?" he asked Bilbo, slicking raindrops off his shoulders and arms with his hands.

"Often if you see a bit of a green tinge to storm clouds, there's a chance of hail. It's just something we always look for. Hobbits are farmers," he elaborated, when they looked at him curiously. "While rain is a wonderful thing for your little green growing things, hail can destroy whole crops. Not to mention a goodly sized hail stone could brain a person," he shuddered. "We are wary, and have learned to read the weather well. It's just, Hobbits?" he shrugged as he finished tossing the meat. "Mix the rest of that fat there with half the vegetation that you've chopped. We want to stuff those birds of yours."

The boys did as asked as he carefully added a little water into the pot, stirring in the offal, now a thick paste, until the water turned a deep brown and was well mixed around the meat. Then, he dumped a few handfuls of mushrooms and the chopped roots in and poured more water in to cover, stirring all the while.

Bilbo turned to his pack, lying in a corner, and retrieved a single, solitary and rather stale bread roll hoarded from yesterday. He placed it on one of the larger leaves and bashed vigorously a few times with the back of his knife. The resultant crumbs he tipped carefully into the boy's mix.

"Not that I approve of bird-nesting, but it's a pity we couldn't head out to raid for eggs," Bilbo mused. Kíli coughed.

"We were going to save them for breakfast," Fíli apologised, as Kíli fetched five small eggs out of the pocket of his discarded clothes. "There was no bird attending them, so they might not be any good, and there isn't enough for everyone."

"Brilliant boys!" Bilbo praised, sniffing each egg carefully, before breaking one into his hand. It was still yolked, and didn't smell, so Bilbo dumped it into the pile of fat and bread and churned roots. A second was good, too, and Bilbo worked it in under the eye of silent brothers.

"You won't tell them, will you?" he asked quietly a few minutes later, as he directed them to stuff the birds with the mix and wandered over to the 'cave' entrance to rinse his hands and arms off. The boys exchanged an incomprehensible look that seemed to mean a lot, judging by the quick nod they gave each other.

"Tell them what?" Kíli asked with a confused tilt of the head. Oh, he was good. If not for their little reveal earlier, he may have bought that naïve innocence. And he dealt with mischievous thieving Took fauntlets on a regular basis. They were _good_. And Bilbo still wasn't even sure what their answer really was.

"Now that the bark is soaked through, it won't burn, even if you place it above the flame. If we wrap the birds in it, we should be able to place them in the holes with the fires and they will roast. As long as they are turned frequently, and wet down if the bark starts to blacken, we should have roasted stuffed birds soon enough. And a rather nice rabbit stew, as well, though what we're going to eat out of, now that we have no bowls, I have no idea."

He leant his head onto his knee, rubbing at his eyes again. They had _nothing_. He could keep them warm and dry and fed tonight, even pain free for a bit, but there was no turning back on this journey. Only forward. With nothing. He sighed again, leaning into his knee a bit more.

He wasn't exactly sure how long he sat there, or when exactly he fell asleep, just that all of a sudden he was being urged to his feet and stumbling a few steps forward. 

"Stew," he mumbled, and Kíli chuckled from one side of him. 

"I've got it."

He very blearily heard Dwalin make a sleepy noise of protest, but then he felt like he was falling, too tired to even flinch at the sensation, before heat boxed him in from both sides and arms wrapped around him and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a past discussion with a bloke, I was slightly misinformed a little in terms of white birch. I was discussing the uses of a particular local variety of paperbark tree and what could be done with it, and I was under the assumption that the same could be done with Birch. White Birch _will_ burn, even if wet (a good thing when you need fuel for your fire in wet weather), however, if you fill it with water like a bowl, it won't. So, technically, they could do the stew in it, but not necessarily the birdies. Let's pretend, for the sake of fiction today, that Middle Earth White Birch won't burn when soaked in water.
> 
> Incidentally, White Birch bark, like Australian paperbark, is edible, can be turned into rope, is waterproof enough to make a bowl, and when soaked in water the pulp can be used as a cast for a broken limb. The dry bark is the best thing you can use to be lighting fires as tinder, and is soft enough to lie on comfortably if you need a bed. (The resin that can be heated out of the bark also makes an excellent waterproof glue, I have been told.) Hence, Bilbo's use of it in this.

He was sure, at one stage, as if listening through the plumpest of down pillows, that he heard Thorin speak, asking him if he thought he was clever now, and Fíli and Kíli laughing. Dwalin was rumbling at him to shut up and enjoy the benefits and something about additional leaves, but he was far too tired to understand, and so very warm and comfortable, and above all else, basking in the lovely feeling of being safe and secure enough to sleep, for the first time since leaving Bag End. (Rivendell didn't count, what with Thorin glaring at him constantly and his 'don't get comfortable, don't trust them, tonight might be the night we have to leave, be prepared!' so he had barely slept, too keyed up to properly enjoy the comfort of an actual bed). Here and now, physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, he was helpless to do anything more than just sleep. 

Next thing he knew was Fíli shaking him by the shoulder. "Bilbo. We think the food is done. Kíli wants you to check the birds though. Bilbo!"

"I'm up," he mumbled, attempting to sit up with his eyes shut. His body didn't seem to be capable of obeying his commands though, and he frowned and forced his eyelids to part and used every bit of willpower he possessed to stop himself from shrieking.

"Fíli!" he hissed. "Why am I wedged between Thorin and Dwalin? Get me out before they wake and _viciously murder me!_ "

"We didn't want you to get cold," Fíli whispered back, grinning widely. "And besides, they don't seem to mind. Look at how tightly they have you wrapped up between them!"

" _Fíli!_ " he whimpered, fighting the urge to squirm. Who knew what would wake them and what they would do to him once they realised they were using the idiot burglar as a snuggle toy. He was going to die. He was a dead Hobbit walking. Lying. Laying. Whatever.

Fíli snickered at his discomfort before giving Dwalin a great heave, and wrenched Bilbo out of Thorin's arms with a yank. The two growled in their sleep and rolled back into each other, snuggling down again, and Bilbo sighed in relief, absolutely denying the disappointment at having to be out from between the two. And who knew they were snugglers?

" _Thank_ you," he sighed, rubbing at his face. Fíli was still grinning at him, and so was Kíli, apparently, sitting stirring the stew and looking on the verge of laughing at him. Horrible little prats.

"You're pure evil, the two of you," he grumbled, ambling over on sleep-jellied limbs. He felt like he needed about another 10 hours of sleep before he felt somewhat like his normal Hobbit self again. 

"I can't believe the two of you let me go to sleep," he mumbled, taking Bombur's ladle from Kíli and stirring the stew. "Did you add something to this?" he asked, frowning at the contents.

"I topped up the water a bit and added some more of the mushrooms and leaves you said were safe when it boiled down some," Kíli said, leaning over his shoulder. "It's what I normally do at home. And I used some crumbled cram that Bom had been hoarding to thicken it a little more. It tastes good, I checked."

"No, that's fine. Well done." He yawned and looked around for the kindling pile. "I need sticks," he mumbled. Oh, he was foggy.

"What do you need sticks for?" Fíli took pity on him, going to rifle through the pile of bits to the side. 

"It seems incredibly unfair that the two of you don't even look sleepy," he complained, mustering his muddled brain for an answer. "I need something to get the birds out from the fires."

Fíli and Kíli stared at him a moment before they both snorted and headed to the fires, reaching in with their _bare hands_ to lift out the parcels and lay them at his feet. 

" _Are you mad?_ " he hissed at them, grabbing their hands and examining the skin. "Did the fires go out?" he asked, puzzled, when they appeared to have no burns, indeed, the hair on their arms did not even appear a little singed.

"No, the fires are fine," Kíli assured him.

"We're dwarves, Master Baggins. A camp fire is nothing," Fíli explained. "Fire has to be a lot hotter than that to burn Dwarf hide."

Bilbo stared at them a moment. "Handy," he muttered. "Right, if you seem to be heat proof, open these things up. I would prefer to avoid singed fingers."

"No problem if you did," Kíli said cheerfully, dutifully kneeling and carefully stripping back crackling bark to reveal the meat below. "You were right, the hail came down thick and fast for a good fifteen minutes. Fi went and gathered up a pile and wrapped it in case anyone woke with uncomfortable swelling or a bad head. So even if you did singe those delicate Hobbit fingers, we'd take care of you real good."

"I'm not delicate," Bilbo insisted, perhaps a little too hotly, since the boys looked up and eyed him sharply.

"No," Fíli said, consideringly. "You're not."

Bilbo wasn't sure what to make of that critical gaze, or the fact that Kíli looked somewhat triumphant, and he groped for one of the knives they were using for cooking to carefully poke at the birds. 

"They're done," he finally decided. "A tiny bit overdone in places, but better that then undercooked and making us all sick. Now if we could just find a way of serving out this stew, we could wake the others up."

"Well," Kíli said, wriggling a little, "we had nothing to do for the last hour or so, except to keep watch and babysit the stew, and you were worried about the lack of bowls just before you nodded off sitting there..."

"So we might have borrowed some of the Company's tools for a bit," Fíli took over. "We didn't think they'd mind, since it would mean they get to eat."

"What do you think?" Kíli asked enthusiastically, shoving a rock into his hands.

It was the same sort of rock they had used for the wall. They'd chipped into the stone to make a bowl-shaped indentation into the rock, a bit bigger than Bilbo's fist. And propped inside was a thick stick, that they had carved the end flat, almost a paddle shape, but clearly meant to be a spoon. They were rough and not anything one would choose to use had they a choice, but it was a triumph in the face of the obstacle that was dinner when one had nothing. 

"We just started with the spoons, since we thought we could just pass the pot around, but that hardly took any time at all. So we got creative. We did enough for everyone. And we left enough space next to the 'bowl' bit, so we could put some of the bird on there, save everyone crowding around the three, and everyone getting their fair share. What you think?"

"They're brilliant. You boys, you're _brilliant_." Bilbo should have felt a little embarrassed that he was unashamedly sniffling, but he was tired, dammit. Hobbits were emotional when tired. The boys both patted him on the back, Kíli ruffling his hair, and Fíli even pulled him into a quick one-armed hug. 

"S'lright, Mr Boggins. You did good with the grub. The lads will love it. You want to serve it all up while we wake the Company? They'll wake easily enough, won't they? After licking those leaves?" 

Bilbo frowned.

"How long has it been? I fell asleep..."

"They've been out a couple of hours now. The storm has mostly passed, just light rain now." The boys spread their funny little bowl-plates around him in a circle.

"Oh, right. The leaves don't actually make you sleep, they just relax and relieve pain. The next natural step after that, if you're exhausted, is to pass out. They should wake, a little reluctantly, but if you mention the food it should make them stir ."

"Excellent, I'm starved," Kíli moaned. "The smell of all this has been driving me fucking nuts."

Fíli snickered and yanked him to his feet, dragging him to pounce on Thorin, scarpering with a whole lot of giggles when Dwalin came up roaring. Bilbo ignored them and focused on divvying up the stew and meat, pleased that he seemed to be getting decent portions for everyone. There was even a little mound of the 'stuffing' the boys had made for everyone. He was humming happily at a job well done when he became aware of the silence.

There were eleven boggle-eyed Dwarves, and two ridiculous grinning ones standing in a little semi-circle around him. 

"Um," he fidgeted under their odd silence. "It's not much, but, uh, rabbit stew and roasted bird, should get us through the night?"

"How did you manage this?" Nori asked in an awe-filled tone.

"Er," he stuttered, wondering at their puzzlement. "The boys did most of it?"

"We didn't, not really," Kíli denied. "We helped, but Bilbo told us what to do."

"You snagged the meat, and even _eggs_ , you did the biggest share of the preparation, made the bowls, and watched everything while I slept like a numpty," Bilbo accused.

"Yeah, but we wouldn't have known how to make _this_ ," Kíli defended, handing out bowls to the grateful and groggy horde. "I never would have known to do that with the rabbit guts. It's made a great gravy for the stew."

"You have to watch the, the-" he swallowed heavily when Thorin moaned a little around his first mouthful. "You have to watch for parasites. In the tubes. And watch the bile duct," he added. "If you bust the bile duct when you remove it, the liver will be tainted and you cannot use it."

"And the birds," Fíli said around a mouthful. "Mahal that's good. That stuffing is really clever, all those mushed up bits with the fat, and I've never cooked anything like that. How'd you know the bark wouldn't burn?"

"It's White Birch. It's not native to the Shire, it's an imported species; the sandier soil of the Shire tends towards Silver Birch. White Birch was successfully grown in some of the swampier areas of Tuckborough, though, to help keep marshland down. See it..." he trailed off as he noticed the odd looks thrown his way. "Well. As long as there is plenty of moisture in it, it won't burn. I would have made a bowl with it and cooked the stew that way if we hadn't had Bombur's cookpot. Though this way, we could make a much more generous stew, of course."

"How did you cook these?" Dori asked, scooping a bit of the bird in his mouth.

"He wrapped them in wet bark and we put them in beside the fires! T's like roasting," Kíli proudly proclaimed. "And these birds aren't bad, are they?"

"Meaty," Balin agreed. "You've done well, Bilbo."

" _I_ didn't catch them," he protested.

"Tastes garlicky," Bofur said sleepily. "Real nice."

The makeshift bowls and spoons were doing their job admirably as the dwarves happily shoveled mouthfuls of hot stew into hungry mouths. They were clearly enjoying the meal as much for its savouriness as for it’s ability to sate the gut-gnawing need to _munch_ with which they had all awoken. 

"Will you show me how you did it later, Bilbo?" Bombur asked, and Bilbo smiled at him. "Kíli will have to get me some more game," he laughed.

The Company fell silent while they finished their meal, everyone more than a little sleepy still, and in at least Thorin's case by the look of it, a little stoned as well.

"Make sure you all drink a bit too, after this," he told the Company at large. "The leaves can make you somewhat thirsty."

"You're not going to make us lick those things again, are you?" Ori asked, a little horrified. "Also, I'm really sorry I threatened to cut you," he added with a blush.

"You what?" Dori demanded, face coming out of his bowl where he'd been licking it clean.

"Ah, he was just a little concerned that I had poisoned his brothers," Bilbo assured. "No harm done, completely understandable, non-consensual drugging and all that."

"Aye, we'll be having a chat about those leaves of yours later, lad," Óin warned. "And no administrating of medicinals without running them by me, thank you very much."

"I know, I didn't mean any harm, I just thought that the lot of you would object, and they really are quite a good one for basic pain relief and relaxation of muscles. They aren't mind altering as such, just really really relaxing."

"I found the effect quite lovely," Glóin remarked, burping happily.

"You would," his brother remarked, cuffing him a little upside the head.

"He's taking care of us," Thorin rumbled lowly to Dwalin, nudging him in the side. 

"Finish your dinner," Dwalin instructed gently, guiding his head back to his bowl. Thorin was the only one that wasn't finished; Bifur had helped Bofur distribute what scraps were left and wandered out of their little nook into the drizzle to wash some of the bowls out. 

"Perhaps I shouldn't have given Thorin two," BIlbo fretted. "But he was looking so terrible, I thought he needed the pain relief."

"Don't mind him," Dwalin said fondly. "He's just not used to being fussed over by any other than the lasses. He's alright."

"Lasses?" Bilbo asked.

"Us sons of Durin are apparently useless 'n harebrained," Thorin mumbled into the remains of his stew. "We are fortunate that our Ladies are there to save us from our stupidity."

"He's pretty much quoting our Gabil'amad there," Kíli grinned, noisily chewing on a more burnt mouthful of unnamed bird. 

"Now _there's_ a fine lady," Glóin pronounced.

"Gabila-watsit?" Bilbo asked.

"Our grandmother, Thorin's mother," Fíli translated, waving at Thorin. Bilbo's brain stalled.

"Wait," he said, gesturing in the air above his head. "Thorin's mother is also _your_ Grandmother. How? What?"

"Thorin's our Uncle, our Ma's oldest brother," Fíli clarified. "Didn't you know that?"

" _How would I have known that?_ " he demanded. "The only reason I know half of you are related is because your names rhyme!"

All thirteen dwarrows stared at him. Bilbo huffed.

"Dís is my nunamad," Thorin said with the slow pronunciation of one concentrating on what they were saying. Perhaps two leaves was a little bit of overkill. Either that, or Thorin was a lightweight. "My second sister. I have three. And then there is my daughter, and my grand daughter. And my sister's daughter. All of them fuss. Like you. None of them cook so well, though."

"Oh, you better not let Yrith let you hear that, she may skin you alive," Dwalin chuckled, tugging Thorin into his side.

"Yrith?" Bilbo asked numbly.

"Nathith, my daughter," Thorin sighed, resting his head on Dwalin's shoulder. 

Oh, he was an old fool, Bilbo thought. After the little bit of teasing from Fíli and Kíli before, he had thought, well, he wasn't sure what he thought. It had sounded like they had approved of his little crush on their leader. They had been really teasing, laughing at his unfortunate attraction. He was a complete fool.

It wasn't like he'd had any chance with him to begin with. He was being ridiculous.

"I hadn't realised you were married," Bilbo said quietly, keeping his eyes on the ground between them.

"Course he is!" Balin exclaimed. "He wears my brother's bead, after all."

"Your brother's-"

"He can't read braids, why would he be able to read the beads," Dori defended.

"Thorin's been mine since we were in our sixties," Dwalin rumbled. 

Stupid fool. That should have been obvious, perhaps. Really, he never had a chance with either of them anyway. He was completely ridiculous.

"Wait," Bilbo frowned. "So, your males can bear young? I didn't know Dwarves had that ability."

He was really growing tired of being stared at.

"Yrith is mine through, hmm, bashag- er, uhyshar hurmaz. I don't know what it is known as in Westron..."

"She is what the Men I believe call 'adopted'," Balin supplied helpfully. "Thorin became her father through honour and conquest."

"Conquest?" Bilbo asked with a little trepidation.

"Aye, he battled fiercely to win fathers’ rights to the lass," Dwalin said proudly.

Bilbo opened his mouth and promptly closed it again. And then opened and closed it again.

"I'm trying not to make assumptions, because I am seeing that there is a lot I didn't know about you lot. But that last thing you said. It almost sounded as if, well, it sounded like your children, or that one, er, Yrith? was won as a prize in a fight."

"No!" Balin almost shouted, face an alarming colour for a minute before it settled. "No. What I meant was, the Yrith's parent was found unfit, and Thorin found himself honour bound to denounce that, that- well, that other's right to bear the title of father, and fight for the right to take up the responsibility."

"The story is a long one," Thorin sighed. "It occured when I had travelled far to the East, to the mountains of the Stonefoots and the Blacklocks. My Yrith is a Blacklock. The short version would be, that the one I name as Nathith was taken against her will and outside of marriage by another at the age of 38. She became pregnant. The dwarf that was once known as her father beat her, as the family of the lad she was to be married to, used the pregnancy to break contract, which cost him much promised wealth and position. He then forced her to use her pregnancy as a way to sow discord between her people and mine for his financial and political gain. She denounced him in front of many, and revealed what he was attempting to do."

"At this stage," Balin took over from Thorin, "the dwarf would have been arrested and the girl would have been sponsored by family until she was of age and could fend for herself. Thorin, however, would not let it rest at that."

"She looked lost. She wasn't _happy_ , she was _resigned_ " Thorin sighed.

"He challenged that bastard for his rights as a father. Stood there and told that scared, brave girl, that though we did not have much, we had our honour, and she would be loved and sheltered amongst our family. Yrith accepted his offer of parentage, Thorin whipped the pants of the fool, _and_ his second, _and_ his third- didn't leave me any fun at all, standing as his second is boring as bat shit- and we took Yrith home with us two weeks later," Dwalin finished proudly.

"And a few months later, I was blessed again with a beautiful grand daughter. She named her Yrís, for my sisters. They have been mine to call family for 27 years now," Thorin finished with pride and more than a little fondness.

"Uncle's going to let me court Yrith when she's of age," Kíli told him gleefully, though he faltered when Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, that is to say, I'll have enough wealth and status from this quest he won't be able to legitimately say no."

"Yes I will," Thorin scowled at him.

"Tell that to Yrith after this quest and we'll see what she has to say!" Kíli scowled back just as fiercly.

"Don't mind them," Fíli told Bilbo when Thorin growled something in Khuzdul that Kíli responded to that disolved into what seemed to be a heated argument. "Kíli's been in love with Yrith since the day Thorin brought her home. Technically, they could have been courting for years, since she's only a decade or so younger than Kíli, but Thorin has always insisted that his daughter will court none till she's of full adult age, which is 80, for us. It's another 15 years for Yrith, unless they can wear Thorin down." 

They sat and watched the argument going on across from them for a minute, various members of the Company occasionally throwing in their opinions to keep the contenders fired-up, it seemed, neither Thorin or Kíli backing down in the slightest, though Thorin still slurred a few words here and there. Bilbo didn't understand one single word of it, but it was fascinating to watch.

"Now that I know, it seems obvious," he murmured to Fíli.

"What does?"

"The resemblance. They look so alike, I should have known they were related. And you," Bilbo turned and regarded him carefully. "You have the same face, too. The nose and the cheekbones, and the startling eyes. I probably should have seen that sooner."

Fíli eyed him curiously through Thorin bellowing something that made Dwalin slap a hand over his eyes and sigh.

"Did you really not know of the familial bonds of the Company?" he asked. "Even though we wear the sigils of our families sewn into our clothes? And our beads? And each of us wearing a braid of clan?"

"I did not know that any of that was... well, anything more than pretty decoration," Bilbo shrugged, a little bewildered. "Are there more family relations that I didn't know about?"

"Well," Fíli leaned his weight onto Bilbo, "you know that Kíli and I are brothers, and that Thorin is our Uncle. Our ma had another brother, but he was struck down at Azanulbizar before we were born. Dwalin and Balin are brothers, as you know. Their father was Lord Fundin, also lost at Azanulbizar. Fundin's brother was Gróin, father to Óin and Glóin over there. 

"Now, Balin, he's courting Dori."

"What?" Bilbo gasped. Fíli hummed in amusement, idly watching his brother point an accusatory finger at Thorin and dissolve into high-pitched accusations. Honestly, you couldn't pay for this sort of entertainment.

"Yep, Dori and Balin only met about five years back. See, Nori decided it was a good idea to try and pinch something off our Grandmother Chaísa. Dwalin caught him at it and dragged him into the guard house. Turned out, he was _trying_ to get pinched, he just wasn't planning on Dwalin being the one who did so. See, Dwalin has a sister named Thrai-"

"A _sister_ -"

"I just said that. Well Thrai's husband Draghi has a sister too, named Flurgha-"

" _Flurgha_?"

"I know, _gorgeous_ name, and a gorgeous Dam to go with it, let me tell you. Well, she's a part of the guard, see, and patrols the quarters where my family resides, and Nori was looking to go about his wooing with a bit of a cat and mouse game with the lass. Never counted on Dwalin finding him with his hand in the Queen's jewellery box, though. By the time Dori got there, it was a complete shit-storm, and then Balin was there, and, well, to sum up, Dori was in full mother-bear mode, Balin didn't make the best of first impressions, and Dori told him he could stick it where the sun wasn't shining and find himself a new One. It's taken a while for Balin to get Dori warmed up to him, if you know what I mean."

"Oh my," Bilbo said faintly.

"Yeah," Fíli leered, "you know what I mean. Nori and Ori are Dori's brothers, Dori is courting Balin, and Nori is courting Balin and Dwalin's sister-in-law. Also, Óin's husband Benrin is like, Dori's 3rd cousin or something. So that lot is pretty much a part of the family."

"What about Ori?"

"Oh, he had a dream of the Longing when he was younger. He has a One, he knows that, but he says he won't meet them for many many years yet. Poor lad. Now, Bofur and Bombur are Broadbeams. A different clan to the rest of us," he explained when Bilbo looked lost. "Thorin is a descendant of Durin, the first of the Longbeards. As are the rest of us. Balin, Dwalin, Glóin and Óin are actually distant cousins of ours, I believe their great-grandfather was Thorin's great grandfather's younger brother. Not so close that Dwalin and Thorin couldn't present as each other's Ones though, obviously."

"Obviously," Bilbo nodded, a little lost.

"But Bofur and his brother are pure Broadbeam, though apparently some of their ancestors did call Khazad-dûm home before it's downfall. Bifur's da was their da's brother, though Bifur's mam was a Longbeard. Bifur is also our Aunt Arvís' husband's cousin-by-marriage, he married Uncle Darvi's first cousin, Nor. She's gone now, taken in the same skirmish that put that axe in Bifur's skull, but they had a son. Bifur, however, after the attack, was so addled that he didn't even recognise the lad, and so Rafur was raised primarily by Bombur and his wife, sometimes with our family, with Arvís. The relationship is better now, Bifur's got most of his memories back, but he has rough patches. Regardless, he's kin.

"Now, a fair way's back, the last group of Firebeards still living amongst the Hills came North to join the Longbeards and the few Broadbeams still there, make a larger clan, better protection and pooling of resources, that sort of thing. The Lord of that group was lucky enough to have _four_ daughters. The eldest is Krara, and she married Glóin. They have a son named Gimli, who's just a few years younger of Kíli. He was beyond furious when we were allowed to come on the Quest since we're Uncle's heirs and kin-guard, but he was excluded for his age. Bombur married the third sister, Dlara. And wow, did that girl get whatever genes her parents were packing, because she's given Bombur _eight_ children over the years, three of them girls. However, since Bombur's and Glóin's wives technically outrank them, they're considered consort to Firebeard royalty, so that makes Glóin and Bombur brothers."

"So, _all_ of you are family. All different parts of the same big family?"

"Yep."

"Sounds like a Shire family," Bilbo said a little wistfully.

"What about Bofur? Not married to a second cousin or anything?" Bilbo asked.

"Naw, I'm not sure about Bofur, actually. He's never mentioned anything, and he's a bit of a flirt to boot, so who knows, he might not have the Longing."

"And you?" Bilbo asked, even more overwhelmed. Fíli gave him a considering look.

"Well now, Mister Baggins, isn't that a bold question?"

"It's bold to talk of yourself, but not of others?" Bilbo asked, quite incredulous, eyebrows raised.

"Asking after my status might make me think that you're interested in me, _Bilbo_ ," Fíli whispered huskily in his ear, face crinkled into a mischievous grin. Bilbo stiffened in indignation. First he teased Bilbo for his stupid crush on two dwarves that he knew were beyond his reach, and now he would use cultural ignorance as a new grounds for torment.

"I'm not. Interested, that is, Master Fíli," he said as neutrally as possible. Fíli regarded him carefully for a moment, while Bilbo watched what seemed to be some sort of bargaining between Thorin and his youngest nephew.

"We don't speak of ourselves much to outsiders," Fíli said after a while. Bilbo ignored him, focusing on Kíli throwing his hands in the air in frustration, it appeared, while Thorin crossed his arms and looked obstinate, Dwalin whispering in his ear.

"So, I'm a little surprised," Fíli continued, when it looked like Bilbo would continue to ignore him, "that you would not ask about some of the terms I have spoken of. The Longing. Our Ones. Hmm?"

"You have all made it very clear, over the last few months, Master Fíli, that I am not a Dwarrow. I see now, too, that it was also a matter of making clear to me that I am not Family. These things are not for me to know, I have no right to them. I apologise for asking after your status, I will not presume to involve myself so again." 

"If you do not know of these things, how can you know what is really going on around you?" Fíli demanded fiercely, like he had not even heard Bilbo speak. Bilbo ignored him, standing quickly and reaching for the stew pot to clean it. Some time outside their little bower may help him cool down. A hand grabbing his stopped his rash grasp for the handle however.

"You'll burn yourself," Fíli said neutrally, reaching his free hand to take up the pot himself and ambling out the little door to their camp. Bilbo could only stand helplessly, swaying a little as he felt the exhaustion wash over him again. Right at that moment, Bilbo would have done anything to have been back in his Hobbit hole Under-Hill, having never heard of Dwarrows and Quests. A large warm hand patting him gently on the back drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up into the eyes of Glóin, warm and understanding for the first time since he had met the large dwarf.

"Fíli worries a lot," he said quietly as he drew Bilbo into his side, wrapping a beefy arm of heat around the Hobbit, Bilbo only then realising he was shivering. "He doesn't trust very easily, either, doesn't trust folk to work things out for themselves. So he meddles." Glóin manouvered him to sit, half on the dwarf's lap, _cuddled_ Bilbo thought with an internal burst of hysterical giggles. "Don't you worry, though. Things'll sort themselves right. Just takes some time to get through thick skulls, that's all. Don't you worry, now," he crooned soothingly, and Bilbo found himself sniffing, resting his head on Glóin's shoulder, and drifting off to sleep for the second time that evening, in Dwarven arms.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to my usage of Neo Khuzdul for this, I am sorry, devoted Khuzdulians, for my butchering. When searching for a word for 'Grandmother', there was no direct usage in the Neo-Khuzdul dictionary, so I decided that 'great mother' would be an acceptable compromise. 'Gabil' would be the usage for 'Great', so I created 'Gabil'amad'. It was after that, I found that 'Umad' in the Khuzdul dico could stand for 'Greater Mother', however, I decided to stick with my original, despite discovering that the fanon standard seems to be Umad. My reasoning is Gabil'amad is the term one would use for identifying a person to another, while Umad would be the title to address that person. Like I would tell people that Jean Mary is my grandmother, but I call her Nanna, got it? Also, Nunamad is literally 'nu' meaning second, and 'namad' meaning sister, mashed together. Dudes, a linguist I am sooo not.


	3. Chapter 3

He dreamt. Thorin was demanding to know if he intended to steal from him now, and Dwalin was growling. And the Company were laughing, laughing, laughing, the sound deep and rumbling and echoing all around him, reverberating through his bones till he shook with it, the earth under him rocking and shaking and his head pounded and pounded with it.

Relief came in flight, weightless and floating, soaring through nowhere and shivering before he finally sank into something familiar. Dreams long forgotten, the dreams he had dreamt as a boy.

Deep pools of liquid rock. Rock so hot it bubbled and flowed, so hot it shone like silver and fire in the glimmer of the caverns it ran through, running all around him, hot, so hot, and he wallowed in the fire that was not fire, bathed in it, rejoiced in it, wrapped in it, so relieved, so content...

And it flowed away. Left behind in a desolate desert of nothing , and he shivered and shivered and shivered...

"Bilbo."

Opening his eyes seemed even more difficult than it had before, but there was a hand shaking his shoulder insistently, and saying his name in a persistent whisper, so he struggled, forcing his lids up to stare glassily at Bifur.

"Hmmm?" was all he could manage in his befuddled state, but the other just smiled and held out hand to help him up. Bilbo took it, letting himself be steadied and then tugged lightly away from where he had been sleeping. Somewhat hazy, he rubbed at his face for a moment, mentally reestablishing where he was and how he'd gotten there. He'd been so tired, shivering and homesick, and choking chestnuts, had he actually sat in Glóin's lap and cuddled like an overwhelmed faunt? And _lived?_

Oh dear.

It seemed Glóin's kindness had extended beyond not murdering him to placing him on their 'bed' for the evening. An evening that was over, judging by the faint glow of the forest outside, about to be lit properly by the first rays of dawn, and he stood and admired the quiet gloom of the forest for a moment before he turned to check on his dwarves.

Most of them were still sleeping. They were mainly curled around family members, but it was amusing to see Balin spooning with Dori, now that he knew the status of their relationship. Fíli was smushed up into Glóin's side, but Óin and Kíli were missing. So were Thorin and Dwalin. Bilbo turned back to Bifur with a question on his lips, but Bifur was already miming some sort of explosion low on his side?

"What...? Oh! Thorin's wound? It broke open again?" Bifur nodded.

"I suppose then, that Óin and Dwalin are tending to him?" Another nod.

"And Kíli?"

"Dughû," Bifur said softly, making a wiggling motion with his hand. When Bilbo tilted his head to the side in confusion, Bifur made a face, sucking his lips in and smacking them, wiggling his hand again.

"Fish!" Bilbo exclaimed quietly, pleased with himself. "Dagoo means fish?"

"Dagh," Bifur nodded, holding up one finger, "Daghû," he repeated, holding up all his fingers.

"Dagh," Bilbo repeated dutifully. "One fish? And Daghû means many fish?" Bifur nodded and grinned wide and pleased. 

"Kíli daghâl." Bifur pantomimed a person with a fishing pole and Bilbo bounced a little. 

"Kíli's fishing!" he guessed. Bilbo was pretty sure that was not quite it, when Bifur's smile was a little crooked and ruefully fond, but he let it go.

"Well, what do you need me for?"

Bifur said something with an expansive gesture, but all Bilbo got from it was 'Óin', so Bilbo just shrugged and smiled and Bifur handed him his clothes, Bilbo only just realising he was still in his skivvies. 

Oh, how shameful, he'd let Dwalin take his wet clothes from him, and then slouched around in his braes the entire time, with no regard for propriety. 

"Oh dear," he muttered, yanking his pants on. Bifur tugged him out into the quiet forest as soon as the shirt slid onto his shoulders, much to his consternation. While the Dwarves were all far from shy about nakedness, it was a little embarrassing to be prancing about with his soft Hobbit self on display in front of beings from a race of warriors. He'd much prefer to get his buttons done up before seeing the King and his Consort.

(Stars of Mirromere. The King and his _Consort_. Even if they didn't know he was crushing on them, _both_ of them, how embarrassing. They were _married_.)

His distress must have been apparent, because Bifur slowed and said something incomprehensible that was no doubt meant to be reassuring, judging by his sympathetic expression, and patted him gently.

"I'm fine," he said, and Bifur said something else, with an odd gesture and 'Thorin' and 'Dwalin' were both clear. Bilbo blushed.

"What have they got to with anything?" he spluttered, and Bifur grinned, all teeth, and resumed tugging him to the stream, where Bilbo could now hear splashing and a fair amount of Óin cussing.

"Yadi," Bifur called out as they hit the clearing, letting Bilbo go with another pat on the head, and wandered further along to where Bilbo could see Kíli upstream in a calmer patch, attempting -and succeeding, by the look of the pile on the bank- to fish with a bow and arrow.

Thorin and Dwalin, Bilbo realised with a growing blush, were damp and freshly bathed, and naked as could be, sitting on some rocks while Óin packed something on Thorin's side, Dwalin supporting his king and spouse. Even with the sickening mottling, and the dark stitches over ragged punctures all down his side, Thorin was an attractive dwarf. Oh yes. And Dwalin... there was something about the sight of his furry skin taut over bulging muscles that made Bilbo light-headed. And... they were staring. 

"Bilbo?" Óin asked, for the second time, by the look of it, frowning at him in worry.

"Sorry," Bilbo managed, mouth dry. "Still half asleep, I think. What was it you wanted?"

"Hmmm." Óin was clearly not convinced, and Thorin and Dwalin were looking quite amused - _and extremely naked!_ \- as well as being rather wet and... naked. Despite the amusement they were clearly still powerful, dangerous beings, not lessened one whit by their being – naked. They could both quite easily snap his soft body with little effort, even, er, naked, so he really shouldn't stare at them while they were _naked_. Even if they were simply fascinating to look at, both somewhat battle scarred, and undoubtedly naked, furred in a way Bilbo would not have previously thought attractive, to say nothing of their being…..naked. Bilbo's flush grew and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat. 

"I wanted to know where to get more of those leaves," Óin asked him, and Thorin's face twisted unhappily behind him.

"Oh, well, I picked plenty," Bilbo reassured, forcing his gaze to meet Óin's. "They-"

"Nope," Óin shook his head. "The lads got into them last night, for 'relaxation'. You'll have to pick more, if you can find 'em. So I can dose his Majesty here. He can barely move today." 

"They didn't have too many, did they?" Bilbo frowned, awake and concerned now. "They can be poisonous in high doses. More than five or so at a time can cause more harm than good."

"They barely got through a leaf each before they were all passing out again," Dwalin snorted. "Only Glóin and Ori managed two."

"Oh dear," Bilbo sighed. "The vine they grow on was on some trees not far from here, I should only be a moment."

"Bring plenty, and I'll stash it," Óin told him. "And then I want you to tell me everything you know about them."

"Dwalin," Thorin started, but his husband was already standing to follow Bilbo.

"Yep, I'm going," he said, stretching, and Bilbo gawked.

"You can't, you're naked!" he yelped before he could help himself, and Thorin started chuckling.

Oh my, what a sound. Bilbo hadn't really heard Thorin laugh before. Not so relaxed and affectionate and, and- Bugger.

Dwalin reached down and grabbed his unders and pants, working them on quickly and shoving thick socks and his boots on. He hesitated then. 

"I've got my staff and a dagger in m' draws, and Kíli is there with his bow, and Bifur has his pig sticker," Óin said in exasperation, not looking up from his carefully prodding of Thorin's wounds. Dwalin made a sound, but took up one of his axes, handing the other to Thorin.

"Back soon," he grunted, waving Bilbo ahead, who went silently, gaze lowered.

"Told Kíli about what you said," Dwalin told him all of a sudden. "About the fish. He started with a line, but he got frustrated. Changed to the bow."

"I noticed," Bilbo said slowly. Was Dwalin attempting conversation with him? "Hopefully his aim is good. Punctured guts usually means tainted fish. It'll be a job to get them edible."

"His aim is excellent. The boy's been training since he was a wee scamp, Thorin taught both boys himself," Dwalin reassured him, reaching to steady him when Bilbo stumbled slightly, and since when had all these confounding Dwarrows become so handsy? "Knowing the lad, he'll be taking head shots for the accuracy training, and the chance to brag."

"Probably," Bilbo huffed, grinning. "Just down here," Bilbo told him, spotting a distinctive jut of moss covered rock. "There it is."

The vines mostly grew in mossy hollows and wound their way around trees. Back in the Shire, they were an interesting case of symbiotic growth, since the vine really only grew in and around certain trees, needing them to live, but deterred some of the nastier of small insects and pests from getting into the trees infrastructure. Mutual survival. It was a simple thing to shimmy up the sprawling branches of these trees to get to the thicker clumps of leaves and start picking, carefully avoiding the plant's fruit.

"Careful," Dwalin cautioned him.

"'Tis alright, Mister Dwalin," Bilbo reassured him. "I've done this many times before. I'm good in a tree, even for a Hobbit."

"Hobbits often climb trees?" Dwalin asked after a moment, and Bilbo took his time answering. 

The thing was, despite the fact that the Company had made quite clear to him, many times now and in many subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that he wasn't one of them, wasn't a Dwarf, despite that, the thirteen had already become very dear to him. He was a Hobbit who had rejected the opportunities provided to make a family for himself, for many reasons, and had not realised how much he had missed being part of a group like this till now. Even if he was not part of their family, they were part of his. At times, he could feel himself on the precipice of being far more truthful with them than he had any business doing with outsiders.

"My mother was a Took," he settled on saying. "A fairly adventurous family. My cousins would often taunt me for the staid boring Baggins heritage I have. I set about proving them wrong many times as a lad. Occasionally," he told Dwalin, climbing back down with a few quick hops, "that meant climbing up very tall trees where the others were smart enough not to."

Dwalin regarded him silently, expression indiscernible.

"I have a habit," Bilbo told him impulsively, "of foolishly trying to prove myself more than I really am. Gets me in all sorts of trouble," he finished with a shrug, gaze falling to Dwalin's chest, which set his blush going again.

"It ain't foolish to strive to be more than what others say you are," Dwalin told him quietly. "But don't forget it's yourself the results should matter to. Even if you fail, the fact that you tried should mean a lot."

Dwalin _seemed_ sincere. All Bilbo could do was stare though. It was baffling him, the amount of effort the Company members were suddenly making to be nice to him, and Dwalin, _Dwalin_ , who before this had spoken perhaps a dozen words to Bilbo in the entire time since they had met, interspersed with the occasional grunt, was making an effort to talk to him, be _nice_ to him, to make him feel better. 

It was stupid how a few words from Dwalin could make him feel warm. This Dwarf standing here, gruffly insinuating that he mattered, that his efforts here weren't wasted, that _made him feel good_. What was he supposed to do now? Why was this confounded Dwarf making this so much harder for him? Why was he being even more stupidly attractive than he was before Bilbo knew he was _married_?

"Óin said," Bilbo rasped, pausing and licking his lips, "that Thorin was having trouble moving today?"

Something flickered in Dwalin's eyes, but he shifted and looked away and shrugged.

"Sore all over, I think," was all he said.

"Not just pain from the wounds, then? But actual muscle soreness?" Bilbo asked, ignoring any sort of 'moment' he may have cowardly retreated from.

"He can handle the punctures, he's had worse. I think it was the impact with the rocks that's really doing a number on him. He's stiff and he aches."

"I think I saw something that could help."

Bilbo turned and headed away, the opposite direction to where the others were, further in to a thicker thatch of trees, and Dwalin swore, racing clumsily after him.

"Hobbit!" he called, when Bilbo's nimble dance through tree and shrub threatened to take him out of sight. 

"Just down here," Bilbo called back.

" _Wait_ for me, Bilbo!" Dwalin called, and the panic in his tone and the fact that Dwalin had actually used his name made him pause.

"I'm not running away from you," Bilbo told him. _I'd never run from you_ -stupid traitorous brain.

Dwalin caught a gentle hold of his arm, panting ever so slightly as he stood staring wildly at Bilbo, axe brandished.

"It's dangerous," he finally said. "We don't know these lands and the orcs could catch up at any time. Stay by me."

Bilbo nodded. Again, they stood and stared at each other a long moment. Dwalin did not let go of his arm.

"You weren't this quick yesterday," Dwalin commented, and Bilbo shrugged.

"Yesterday I was too tired to navigate a flat empty field with sign posts and a map."

"But not now?" Dwalin asked, somewhat intently. "You slept... _well_ , then?"

"Erm, yes?"

"Warm enough? Comfortable?" Dwalin probed, and _honestly_ , what was with these Dwarves suddenly all concerned for his well being?

"It was a good sleep," Bilbo admitted slowly.

"Good," Dwalin nodded, suddenly almost... shy, letting him go to tug at his beard and roll his shoulders, and avoiding Bilbo's befuddled gaze. "What are we looking for, then?" he asked, clearing his throat and turning to look about the forest.

"A plant?" Bilbo answered absently, preoccupied with studying the Dwarf with brow-creased concentration.

"I gathered that," Dwalin huffed. "What _sort_ of plant?"

"Ah, a flowering plant," Bilbo shook himself slightly. "Delicate pale blue flowers, even paler greyish leaves, grows very low to the ground."

"Like that one?" Dwalin asked, gesturing behind Bilbo with his axe.

"Exactly like that!" Bilbo bounced over to the clump growing half-hidden in the base of a tree trunk, surveying the crop with a critical eye.

"Wait!" he yelped, when Dwalin's arm reached past him, grasping the hand with his own quickly. "It's a stinging variety," he lectured the Dwarf, turning the great paw over and carefully checking it over. "Like Stinging Nettle?" he elaborated when Dwalin looked confused. He huffed at the blank look and tugged Dwalin down by the hand he still held.

"Plants can have their own weapons, too," he explained, guiding Dwalin in close enough to see a stem as he gently pushed a flower head aside. "See the tiny spines all along the stem? They don't look like much, more like hair, they're so thin! But that just makes them easier to slide under skin and leave their toxins, and believe me, once you get them in, they hurt like imbedded fire spikes and don't come out easy. A plant's very own protection." 

"So be gentle?" Dwalin asked, turning his hand over to gently grasp Bilbo' own. 

"Actually," Bilbo swallowed, eyes glued to their joined hands, "A gentle touch is the one that hurts. In the Shire, there is a quote from a fable- 'Gently touch a nettle and it'll sting you for your pains, Grasp it as a lad of mettle and soft as silk remains'. You're far better off, if you have to pick a stinging plant, grabbing it roughly. It bends and breaks the spines before they can hurt."

"And you expected that _I_ would be gentle with it? Me? Gentle?" Dwalin asked, squeezing Bilbo's hand softly.

"You can be gentle, I've seen you. You're a very gentle person when you think nobody is looking... " Bilbo replied breathily, and made the mistake of looking up. 

Thorin's eyes were the lightest of blue, like pale shadows on frost. Dwalin's on the other hand, were the inky blue of a river in winter, deep, dark and fathomless. Both so beautiful, he could hardly breathe when they caught him in their gaze.

"Just not with this?" Dwalin asked him, fingertips grazing Bilbo's pulse point, intently watching as Bilbo shivered. 

"Not-" Bilbo squeaked, and cleared his throat noisily. "Not with the stem. And later, we'll be rough with the leaves."

"Rough is good, here?" Dwalin asked, and there was something about the way he asked that turned Bilbo's cheeks redder than the luscious (extremely poisonous) berries on the bushes surrounding them.

Bilbo shook himself, looking down and tugging at his hand, but Dwalin did not release him, though he did stop tormenting Bilbo's wrist with his fingers.

"We want the leaves that are still dark blue on the underside," he showed him. "We call it Ulmo's Breath." As he talked he picked a leaf and crushed it hard between his fingers. The leaf turned sticky on his fingertips, and Bilbo smeared the glutinous mess quickly over a bruise on the skin of Dwalin's inner forearm.

"It's cold," Dwalin grunted. "Like ice."

"Ulmo's Breath," Bilbo grinned. "It will get uncomfortable for a minute, like leaving the ice on too long."

Dwalin's fingers tightened on his own for a moment. 

"It burns."

"Just wait, it will recede," Bilbo reassured him, stroking the skin below the bruise soothingly.

Any person asked to describe Dwalin in a few words would probably end up using the word 'hard'. Maybe 'mountain of rocks'. All Bilbo could think though, was warm. And smooth, so silky smooth, even the few scars were just lovely soft texture over smooth heat, his inner arm above his wrist almost vulnerable looking in its hairlessness. So lovely. 

He was petting another person's husband. Thorin was going to murder him. And then he would use some sort of Dwarf magic to bring Bilbo back to life. Just so he could murder him again.

"Better?" he asked, yanking his arms back and twisting back to the plant, putting his back to the other while he worked on harvesting. 

"Don't ache so much," Dwalin grunted, jabbing at the bruise with a finger, and Bilbo nodded shortly. Behind him, Dwalin sighed.

"We'll need a few dozen so you can rub His Majesty down properly," Bilbo muttered, shoulders slumping. How in the name of all the Valar did he manage to get himself into these messes?

A hand running down his back made him yelp and jerk, and he hissed as he managed to brush his hand from the knuckle of his first finger right to the base of his thumb against the closest stalk.

"No chance of some touch-me-nots around here, I suppose," Bilbo moaned, cradling his hand. He jerked again when Dwalin pressed against his back, pulling the hand up to observe the skin raising and reddening.

"I'm sorry," Dwalin muttered. "I don't suppose these leaves work on this?"

"Only if I can get the stings out. I can take care of it," he said, regretfully pulling away from the warmth of Dwalin against him. "We need to get these back to Thorin, he's been waiting all this time for the Ugly Pea leaves."

"Ugly pea?" 

Bilbo waved his burning hand in dismissal, busy collecting the Breath they would need and storing it in one of his pockets.

"He'll be worried you haven't come back yet."

"We," Dwalin insisted, as Bilbo stood, blocking his way with his own bulky body.

"What?" Bilbo asked, looking up and away from the chest so close to his inspection.

"He'll be worried that _we_ haven't returned, not just me."

Bilbo had no answer to that.

"And we had better get back, before he sends the others after _us_. I want Óin to look at that hand, too."

"It's fine," Bilbo protested. "It's just an uncomfortable sting, I'll pop some mud on it for a bit and it will be fine, you'll see."

"Mud?"

"Works for nettles, next best thing to a dock leaf for them" Bilbo sighed. Dwalin picked up his axe and reached for Bilbo's non-injured hand, turning to tug him back towards the others. After only a few steps, Bilbo dug in his heels and yanked them to a halt.

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong way," Bilbo told him, pulling him in the right direction.

"We came from that way," Dwalin protested, gesturing up the slope with his axe and keeping a firm grip on Bilbo's hand.

"From the Ugly Pea vines. The stream is _this_ way."

Dwalin looked in both directions as Bilbo dragged him downwards.

"How can you tell?"

"How can you _not_?" Bilbo sighed in exasperation.

"There's too many bloody _trees_. How is a person supposed to tell where they are when there are all these _trees_ in the way."

"You always seem to manage just fine?" Bilbo wondered, and Dwalin nodded.

"Pay attention to distinctive landmarks, and look for m'own boot prints."

Bilbo stopped abruptly and stared at Dwalin in disbelief.

"Honestly," he sighed. " _Dwarves_."

The rest of their walk back to the stream was quiet, Bilbo unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed by the fact. He was also confused on the appropriate response when they arrived back to see Thorin had partially redressed, now sitting chatting quietly to Kíli while the younger worked at scaling and gutting his catch.

"I was wondering whether you'd gotten lost," Thorin said, a small smile twisting at his lips as they came to stand beside him.

"Bloody trees," Dwalin said. Bilbo shrugged, shaking his stinging hand absently. 

Thorin's gaze dropped, his expression... odd, indiscernible. And that was when Bilbo realised he was _holding hands with Thorin's husband_. The sound he made as he yanked his own hand away from Dwalin's great paw was something like that of a strangled dormouse squeak, painfully wrought as he managed to hiccup the noise out as he swallowed, choking on his own saliva. 

"Mud," he choked out, awkwardly leaping sideways like a deranged squirrel. "Just going to... mud. Hand. Not- yes. Sorry I-. Never... Mud!"

He scurried several paces away to a convenient spot by the stream, plunging his hands into the water and closing his eyes in mortification, splashing some cool water onto his face to relieve the burning flush. Honestly.

Behind him, Dwalin murmured something, and Thorin started to chuckle, a low, warm curling sound. Bilbo supposed he should be grateful, really, that he was more a great fucking joke than a legitimate threat to the Dwarven King, else his head may be regretfully bidding goodbye to his body as they were separated with extreme prejudice, but it would be nice if he could go a day without completely humiliating himself for once.

His very stupid, most inappropriate crushes in existence were becoming a problem. Why couldn't be crushing on one of the others, like Bofur, or Ori? Heck, Bifur was nice to him, and the language barrier wasn't _that_ much of an obstacle, surely? 'Right, self,' he internally lectured, 'from now on, we have eyes only for Bifur. Bifur and his handsomely imbedded orc axe and his sexy crazy eyes. Got it?' 

'Nope' self retorted. 'That ain't working for us. And by the way, sexy married Dwarf, four o'clock and headed our way.' 

Stupid self.

"Er," Bilbo stuttered, as Thorin moved stiffly over to him, the sight of the other painfully lowering himself to sit making Bilbo flutter uselessly, unsure if he should bolt like a jackrabbit or help the other down.

"Dwalin said you were injured," Thorin said upon settling, reaching for his hand, examining the raising rash. "He's gone for Òin."

"It's just a sting," Bilbo protested weakly, while Thorin's thumbs rubbed soothingly back and forth across his skin.

The touching-ness was starting to get weird. And was absolutely not helping him develop a crush on Bifur. 

"I just need to put some mud on it," Bilbo croaked, left eye twitching a moment.

There was, he supposed, a strong possibility that one of Azog's ugly cronies had, in fact, lopped of his head as he brashly stood defending the downed Thorin. It would explain the crazy rescue via giant Eagles, the strange trek off a 'Carrock', Dwarrows doing his bidding and being weird and nice and docile and cuddly, and Thorin and Dwalin taking turns _holding his hand_.

Yes, he was dead and hallucinating. Or... something. 

"Bilbo?" Oh dear. He was off in his own head again.

"If I smear some mud on it and let it dry, hopefully when I brush it off, it will pull all the stingers out with it. It will be fine then. No need for Óin, truly."

"We'll see." Thorin's tone was promising and a lot more weighty that should be for some stingers in his hand.

"Yes," Bilbo said slowly. "We will."

Perhaps he had fallen in the Brandybuck river back home and this whole strange adventure with gorgeous dwarves was a fever dream. 

Mud. Mud cured all things.

He'd just scooped up a handful of the perfect consistency of water and dirt when Thorin sighed loudly.

"I find your Hobbit ways _frustrating_."

Bilbo paused to stare, mud oozing from between the fingers of one hand while the other throbbed dully. What on earth had he done to offend the other _now_?

"Sorry?"

Thorin scowled, waving an arm through the air as he drew a great breath, obviously gearing up for a tirade against annoying Hobbits and their stupid stupid ways, but instead groaned loudly as he pulled uncomfortably on his side.

"Kíli!" Bilbo called, hovering over Thorin as he panted for a moment in pain. "Thorin needs to go back now!"

"On it!" Kíli called, not looking up from his fish gutting. "Fíli!"

Dying of fright, Bilbo had decided at the beginning of this journey, was a definite possibility as the cause of his demise, but the number of times such possibilities arose from Fíli and Kíli alone were becoming too absurd to count.

That didn't mean it was becoming easier to endure them popping up out of nowhere. Or down, as the case may be this time, as Fíli suddenly dropped from the tree beside them.

"Got him!" Fíli called to Kíli, even as he hauled his uncle up. "He was only cocking it up, anyway."

"I was _not_ , you interfering bratlet. Can you not mind your own business for _two minutes_ -"

"Not when you keep _cocking it up_ ," Fíli groused as he tugged his uncle along up the hill. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder how on all the Great Father's foundations you ended up an emotional retard, with our family. And don't go blaming Mam and the aunts, little sisters can't possible be _that_ bad."

"They are when they're your mother, where do you think you two gits get it from?" Bilbo heard Thorin grizzle before they rounded hillock and were out of sight.

"What...?" he mumbled helplessly, still kneeling by the stream.

"Oi, Bilbo, come and give us a hand with the fish," Kíli called.

Bilbo blinked at him a moment, finally registering the fist full of mud and Kíli grinning at him in a knowing way that made him very unlikeable.

"Nobody thinks you're clever," he yelled as he finally smeared mud over his stings, wincing at the flex of skin around the tiny hair-like spikes. A quick swish of his other hand in the water to clean gave him a moment to contemplate running the other way, but instead he braced himself, cursing under his breath as he headed over to Kíli's catch.

"What do you need?" he sighed, collapsing onto a convenient rock.

"See if I've caught enough and tell me how I'm cooking this lot," Kíli said, grin firmly in place.

"You've caught enough," he said, settling back, blowing on his mudded hand. If it would dry, he could brush it off and hopefully the stings would be out. He'd be able to put something on it then.

He waited for Kíli to say something more about Thorin or Dwalin, but he didn't, just kept at his scaling and gutting, though Bilbo noticed he was taking his sweet time with it.

"We could just put them on sticks and cook them over the fires," he mused, watching Kíli finish cleaning the last of his catch and string them onto his handy string thingy. "Or we could stuff them with herbs and berries and do them like we did those birds. Or we could make a thick soup of them."

"Can we do that bark thing again?" Kíli asked excitedly. "The meat last night was so good, I wanna see if the fish come out good, too."

"Hmm," Bilbo agreed, sliding his feet into the cool water for a moment. The sun had risen as he and Dwalin had been frolicking around the forest, and now it was just starting to warm spots around the stream, happily, right where Bilbo was sitting. "I have left over herbs, and I saw some fruit bushes yesterday not to far from here."

It was peaceful here, the birds chirping their claims to each other, stream burbling and the sun warm. One could almost imagine that they were not being pursued by Orcs, forcing them to run towards a mountain filled with Dragon.

"Guess we get to go berry picking then!" Kíli bounced, rinsing himself off in the stream and finally wading from the water.

"Yay," Bilbo murmured, weary again. He closed his eyes with a sigh, almost reluctant to move, even if it meant breakfast. 

Dwarves were tiring. Confusing and _tiring_.

"He was working around to an apology," Kíli said then, sitting to pull his boots on.

Case in point.

"What? Who was?"

"Thorin," Kíli said in the patient way of one talking to the obtuse. "He's just absolutely terrible at apologies, so he blurts out something ridiculous and then rambles for a while before finally getting around to the apology part. Like Fíli said, emotional retard."

"An apology for what?" Bilbo huffed, completely bewildered, but there was that look of incredulous pity, and there was obviously no information forthcoming from this super helpful dwarrow either.

Confounded rock-headed cave-dwellers. What was _wrong_ with this lot lately?

"Right, I'm off for breakfast supplies," he said, instead of shrieking and running for home like the hordes of Mordor were on his tail, like he really really should.

"And I'm coming with you!" Kíli replied cheerfully, slinging his tunic and bow over one shoulder, and the raw catch over the other.

"You can't come traipsing around with fish hanging off you!" That, and he very badly needed some time away from Dwarves to prevent tragic cracks in his mental health.

"I completely and totally can, and will. Uncle and Dwalin would take turns beating me bloody if I let you go on your own."

"Why would they care?" Bilbo cried in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air and stomping off, Kíli trailing behind him.

"Seriously?" Ah, incredulous pity again. He'd spent most of this journey viewing them as silly half-grown boys, and then this, this... _knowing_ thing they had going on...

It was irritating. Very very irritating.

"I was going to apologise for Fíli, but maybe he was right."

"Right about wh- no. I actually don’t want to know. You want to come with me? Then you may not speak. No!" he pointed when Kíli opened his mouth. "No speaking. For at least five minutes."

Turning, he resumed his stomping, mumbling under his breath all the while. Bloody Dwarves. Bloody, stinking, ill-mannered, confounding _Dwarves_.

The berries were not quite as close as he had thought, and he used the extra walk to calm himself, reminding himself of their predicament. 

They were still in the middle of nowhere with precisely nothing. Now was not the time for tempers.

Picking the berries was a little slower than he would have normally managed. He was practically working one-handed now and it really didn’t help that the berries were protected by some potentially nasty thorns. Still, the berries would marry well with the fish and be well worth the effort of foraging them.

He managed to ignore Kíli, who was obedient in his silence, all the way to the small corpse of fruit and into picking. A lumpy coarse looking berry, and truly, not the tastiest thing for straight eating, they would probably be sufficient for stuffing fish, what with their slightly bitter flavour and mild sweetness, far better when cooked. They made for an excellent pie, when prepared well with some choice ingredients, one of Bilbo's favourites, and quite the delicacy, since they only grew in certain plots in the Shire. Pity their current circumstances would not allow for pie.

"It's been five minutes," Kíli said abruptly.

Bilbo's only response was a deep sigh and eyes closing almost against his will as he silently begged the wisdom for patience from any watching Valar.

"Look, I am sorry for Fíli. He worries. He didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm sure."

"He's only worried for your future. He worries the longer this takes, the more chance there is of it all going belly-up."

"My _future?_ What does that even mean?"

Kíli didn't answer, laying his tunic out to pop his handful of berries in the middle, reaching for Bilbo's harvest to add to the pile.

"How did you sleep?" he asked instead, and Bilbo stood and stomped his foot.

"Dwalin already asked me that," he said stroppily, crossing his arms and glaring at Kíli, who continued to pick.

"And how did you answer him?" 

"I slept _well_ , Kíli, quite fine. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You were very cold when Glóin popped you down to rest," Kíli answered. "We were worried you wouldn't sleep well. Is this enough fruit?"

"Plenty," he answered impatiently, tapping his foot in impatience when Kíli ignored him for securing his berry-filled tunic as a swag from his bow.

"Kíli," he said when the boy unhooked his line of fish from the branch he'd slung them over and made to head back without another word. "Why is it important that I slept well?"

"Of course it's important. Òin said you'd get sick if you got too cold," Kíli frowned. "So Thorin and Dwalin volunteered to keep you warm."

"They what?" Bilbo's brain stalled.

"It worked, you slept well and you aren't sick. Come on, I'm ready for breakfast. I cannot wait for whatever magic you make with this lot!"

Bilbo watched Kíli's back as the lad took off up the hill, whistling and chattering, but Bilbo was frozen. Thorin and Dwalin had voluntarily slept with him? As in, bodies? Close to his? _Voluntarily?_

'And you _missed_ it,' his brain hissed at him angrily.

"Bilbo!" Kíli called from further along. "Bilbo, come on! Breakfast!"

"Coming!" he called back automatically, feet kicking in and carrying him jerkily along, though he sure as hell didn't feel as if he had anything to do with the movement.

He didn't even precisely remember sitting down to stuff fish, either, just that a short while later, Kíli, and then Fíli, were both there handing him things and jabbering on to each other and Bilbo, though he caught not a word of it. The boys though, they took over the stuffing and preparing after they saw what he was doing, so Bilbo sat and watched them, mind for the moment, blank.

It was rather peaceful, actually.

"So," Fíli said, patting him on the back. "Can we put them in the fires?"

"Huh?"

"The fish, can we put it in?"

Wake-up, self.

"I need sticks," he said, kneeling over the closest fire holes.

Behind him, Fíli and Kíli both sighed, and he mentally smacked himself.

"Or I could let you do it. Try and bury them in the coals."

"Awesome," Fíli bounced over to one of the fires. "I'm actually _cooking_. And there's a good chance that nobody'll get sick!"

"Remind me not to eat any of his fish," Kíli whispered with a wink, reaching in to dig in amongst the remains of the fire like it was nothing, and Bilbo shivered and looked away. Burns were nasty things, he knew this well, and it was disconcerting to watch them handle fire in such a way.

"How long do we leave them?" Kíli asked over his shoulder, snickering at his jump. "You really need to stop doing that."

"You need to stop sneaking up on me," Bilbo snapped. "Turn them and rotate their positions in the fire every ten minutes, they should be done in half an hour."

"Excellent," Kíli said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Òin wants you."

"Bugger," Bilbo muttered, turning to see not only Òin, but Thorin and Dwalin sitting together, staring intently at him. Òin beckoned him over, and he stood and went with a sigh.

"You want the Ugly Pea leaves?" he asked Òin hopefully, digging in his pocket. 

"The Ugly...? No, I want to see your hand," Òin said, beckoning him close enough to grasp his wrist.

"What have you done to it?" he cried, seeing the mud. "Haven't you ever heard of infection?"

"I'm not stupid enough to use any old mud," Bilbo defended. "I dug down for fresh loam and mixed with fresh water. It's one of the only ways I know of to get the stingers out of my skin in these conditions."

"Mud draws them out?" Òin yanked his hand even closer, practically sniffing his hand with how close he was.

"Not as such. It will hopefully harden around them when it dries, though, so when I brush it off, the stingers go with it."

"Then why haven't you?"

"I was helping with _breakfast_ , thank you very much, I was about to when you _summoned_ me. Ah!" He pulled his limb back when Òin made a motion to impatiently brush away the dirt. "It must be done directionally to work."

Òin flapped one impatient hand at him, and Bilbo sighed, flexing his hand gently. He brushed at the dirt, hissing at the agitation.

"Got most of them," he mumbled on close inspection. "Just a couple left."

"Give it here," Òin ordered, even as he yanked the hand closer, a pair of tweezers materialising in close proximity to the remaining stings.

"Where did you get _those_?" Bilbo demanded.

"Kíli always has a basic jeweller's kit on him somewhere," Thorin replied for Òin, quiet until now.

"Jeweller's kit?" Bilbo asked, mainly to keep himself from the disconcerting sensation of hair-thin spikes sliding slowly out of his skin one by one.

"The only way we could keep him still as a boy was when Lady Chaísa was working, and then he was near statuesque in his watching her," Dwalin huffed. "Believe it or not, despite the boundless energy and appearance of being unable to sit still, Kíli is _focused_ when he works. He's almost as good as his grandmother, now."

"He specialises in fine jewellery, usually gem work. He once created a wrist cuff, hundreds and hundreds of tiny polished blue crystals, all laid out to graduate from the very darkest of shades right down through the spectrum to a blue so pale as to be mistaken for diamond, with an incredible step-build to the layout. He spent months working to collect enough Men's silver coins to melt and purify a setting worthy. It was stunning work, considering his lack of resources." Thorin's voice was filled with pride as he talked, animated as he waved a hand in the air to emphasise his point.

"It sounds lovely," Bilbo murmured.

"It was gorgeous," Òin agreed, examining his captured hand carefully. "I think that's the lot, laddie."

"Of course it was gorgeous, he was gifting it to our Yrith," Dwalin chuckled. "Besotted sod."

"Did she like it?" Bilbo asked, while Òin wiped gently at the redness with a cloth dipped in a warm water mix that smelt odd.

"She loved it," Thorin grumbled, and Dwalin smacked him gently on the arm with a chuff.

"Stop it, you grump," he admonished fondly.

"What's he grumbling 'bout now?" Glóin asked, plonking himself down beside his brother.

"Kíli's gift," Òin mumbled, smearing his 'ointment' on Bilbo's hand, which was, in Bilbo's estimation, a bit of overkill for a little sting, but he would admit it did feel _much_ better.

"Still?" guffawed Glóin. "Oi, Kíli, Thorin's bitching about the cuff again!"

"What?" Kíli's shriek set Fíli to great peals of laughter, rolling precariously close to a fire hole in his spasmodic display of hilarity.

"That was an amazing piece of work, you ham-handed... _axe-beater!_ "

Balin's great cackle was a surprise; Bilbo was sure he had never seen the older Dwarf give anything more than a dignified chuckle.

" _Axe-beater?_ Who taught you to forge, boy?"

"Mam did!"

Giggles were something Bilbo never expected to come from a great Dwarf like Dwalin. It was, to his amazement, quite cute.

"Bah, she did _not_ , I taught you the betters of smithing-"

" _Swords_ , Uncle, _swords _. You couldn't put an elemental pendant together if someone handed you five fire opals and a clean-cut ruby!"__

__The resounding response to that seemed to be choked noises that were a mixture of shocked outrage and hastily suppressed mirth, all except for Thorin who sputtered incoherently._ _

__"You gave my daughter a courting gift for her sixtieth birthday!" he finally accused, pointing his finger at Kíli._ _

__"I did _not_!" Kíli insisted. "It was a perfectly reasonable gift for the birth celebration of a Durin princess!"_ _

__"You think I don't recognise a courting gift?"_ _

__"You think _Yrith_ doesn't recognise a courting gift?" Kíli mocked. "She accepted it, didn't she?"_ _

__"Kíli, stop tormenting your Uncle," Bilbo roused when Thorin paled and turned red in rapid succession. "Do not backchat me Kíli," he said when the lad opened his mouth to argue. "She's not even of age yet, so there is absolutely no point in fighting over it. You can argue your case when she _is_ of age, got it? Now turn that fish so we can eat breakfast, for goodness sake._ _

__"And you," he rounded on Thorin, "stop getting so worked up, you're supposed to be resting. Don't make me drug you into insensibility again."_ _

__Thorin looked somewhat abashed, sighing and slumping back when Dwalin slid behind him, still snickering._ _

__"Now, Òin, thankyou for that, it feels much better, though I think the bandage was a bit much. Can you tell me when Thorin and Glòin will be fit for travel?"_ _

__"Glóin?" Òin asked, abashed._ _

__"He's favouring his left side," Bilbo said slowly, "and limping when he moves too quickly. I assumed he was injured?"_ _

__"Oh, now you've gone and done it," Glóin sighed, and Òin turned to glare fiercely. "Bloody tattletale."_ _

__"I'll let you know soon," Òin gritted out. "After I have spoken with this disobedient brat."_ _

__"Well now, there's no need for name calling," Glóin said weakly._ _

__"You IDIOT!" Òin bellowed, belting him around the ears. This was followed by what was surely a blistering diatribe, judging by the various winces Bilbo witnessed. And really, the control Òin had over his pitch and delivery was enviable, truly marvellous, nary a breath wasted the entire tirade. Bilbo was certain it was even more impressive when one understood the language, since he was sure Glóin's morose expression was the result of excellent emotional guilting._ _

__Ah, family._ _

__He left Òin to his berating, as he seemed to have it well in hand. Dwalin was keeping Thorin calm and relaxed, and the boys seemed to be keeping the breakfast tended to, so he took a turn through their little enclosure to check on the rest of his little gang of idiots._ _

__Balin was sitting mending a coat rather well, with Dori doing his best not to watch next to him. Nori was chatting with Bombur, lazily resting against Bombur's thigh, while Bombur worked at repairing what looked to be the strap on Bofur's waterskin. Bofur was still trying to wake up, resting against the back of their cave watching Bifur play some sort of thinking game involving pebbles with Ori. All present and accounted for, and all looking pretty well, considering the previous day. By the look of Glóin's hairy behind and his brother's non-panic, his injury was obviously not so severe, so it was possible, if they could use what Bilbo had for Thorin, that they may approve his plan for what to do next._ _

__"Boys, breakfast?" he asked, coming to a pause next to the fires._ _

__"Done!" Kíli chirped, popping a bit of cooked fish in his mouth. "Oh, sweet fires in the mountain, that is so good!"_ _

__"Lay it all out then," Bilbo said, plonking himself down._ _

__"You want our bowls?" Fíli asked, and Bilbo shrugged._ _

__"You think any of this lot will wait for us to serve?"_ _

__"You're feeding them, Bilbo, if you tell them to wait, they'll wait."_ _

__"Alright then," he agreed, frowning. Since when would any of these great lummoxes listen to _him_?_ _

__He frowned all the way through serving, even through Kíli nudging him every now and then in unvoiced concern, and Fíli boasting loudly that he had _cooked_._ _

__"Excellent breakfast, Bilbo, thank you," Dori said around a mouthful of fish. "Simply marvellous."_ _

__"Kíli did it," he muttered dully. He knew protesting wouldn't do much good. Not in bizarro-world where apparently he could do no wrong._ _

__"Nah," Kíli of course, rebutted. "Dwalin said you wanted some fish caught. You did the rest."_ _

__Yep, and there was the cue for his inner sigh._ _

__"And you prepared them, and picked the berries, and you and Fíli stuffed and cooked them. I didn't really do anything."_ _

__"You did loads," Kíli frowned, and Bilbo waved him off, dutifully downing his portion._ _

__It really was very good._ _

__"The goosegogs work really well with the fish,” Bilbo mused, “they are rather sour and cut through the oily flesh of the fish. It’s just a shame I didn’t think to pick any of the leaves too. They’re really good for stopping the thinning of hair and…” He came to a sudden halt as he heard a grunt and a few startled gasps from various members in the Company; even a completely non-intended suggestion that dwarves might suffer from thinning hair was probably not a clever idea. Maybe he should just stick to a safe topic of conversation….…._ _

__"Òin, how bad is your brother?" he asked instead._ _

__"He can walk," Òin scowled. "Numpty's just pulled a muscle in his side. And Thorin could do with some more rest, but movement may actually help with the stiffness. And Dwalin said you had something for him?"_ _

__"Hmm? Oh, Ulmo's Breath. It's a sort of numbing agent for bruising and aches. Those with arthritic pain in their hands use it after work, that sort of thing. It'll burn going on, but after, he should feel a lot better."_ _

__"So, do we stay here a bit more then?" Bofur asked. "Wait for the Wizard?"_ _

__"Actually," Bilbo butted in, straightening and catching their attention. "I think we should move along. I don't know what sort of friend Gandalf has in the area, but I know of somewhere we can go. Hopefully, not too far from here._ _

__"But first," he looked at them all sombrely. "I need to tell you a story."_ _

__***_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I totally nicked a quote from Aesop. Technically, how would Hobbits know ancient Greek fables, I know, but it _works_ here, so, meh. You know what I always say: Just go with it, lovelies. 
> 
> I know that Bilbo seems quite oblivious to some obvious queues here, but in fairness, in the few months he's spent with them, Thorin and Dwalin have ignored him, scowled at him, or generally made him feel like a nuisance. There's sorta reasons coming, but for now, a day of being nice isn't really going to combat previous behaviour. A few nice gestures are more confusing than a sign that his hotties totally want to sex him up. Plus, he'll be vehemently denying anything that _does_ seem that way as wishful thinking. So don't think too badly of the poor befuddled Bilbo. He really has no clue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> This chapter does include a father speaking of his daughter and her emotional trials in the aftermath of underage rape, and subsequent pregnancy. While the gruesome details are not here, it may still be distressing to read for some people. PLEASE do take caution, and if you would like to skip the chapter but want a run down, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Previously: _"But first," he looked at them all sombrely. "I need to tell you a story."_

"A story?" someone asked, confused.

"Yes, a story. I would ask that you hear me out, and then we can talk about where we go from here. May I?"

Bilbo paused. There was more he wanted to say. Needed to say. He had a plan –of sorts – and he would need the consent of these dwarves. But there was much that they needed to know before he led them down the path he had in mind. The past few days had been a steep learning-curve and Bilbo had learned much about the dwarves. It appeared that Ori was something of a scribe, which suggested dwarves honoured the telling of tales as much as Bilbo’s own Hobbit-kin. Would they be willing to listen to his ?

All eyes swivelled to Thorin, who shrugged, and then back to Bilbo. An attentive audience, then.

"I-" This was going to be harder than he thought. He cleared his throat and licked at dry lips, and nodded absently when Ori handed him a water skin.

"Right," he started after a moment. "The story I will tell you is of a particular race of people. A people that once lived in lands to the East. They were peaceful folk, they flourished for many generations, and the earth was very generous in its abundance. They prospered. They had many years in that place, many years of contentment.

"One day, evil came. An evil that could not be stopped, could not be fought or reasoned with. There was nothing that people could do to defend their homes, nothing for them to do but run. So they did."

Thorin was scowling at him. So was Balin, oddly enough. Despite their obvious dislike of his tale, he soldiered on. 

"The people had nowhere to turn. No place to go, no allies to help. They were homeless and scattered. So they wandered. The only path away from the evil was West, so West they went. They braved the Misty Mountains, and many perished, hunger, disease, creatures took the young in the night, and the elderly died of exposure to the elements. They were, well, they were out of their element, scared and defenceless and with no destination in mind. The fate of that people looked so grim, they may as well have laid down in the snow upon the peaks and died away. Faded into obscurity."

Oh look, thirteen dwarrows scowling at him. He swallowed audibly. In for a copper, and all that. 

"They didn't though. They kept going. Life was hard and unyielding and the world uncaring of their plight, but they endured and they journeyed ever on, eking out the barest of existences against all odds."

"Is there a point to this?" Thorin hissed abruptly.

"Yes, so shut it!" Bilbo snapped. He wasn't quite sure what was offending them so, but this was hard enough without them acting like they were.

"Where was I... Oh, yes. So, as resilient as the people were, there is a limit, a point where they could take no more. So they... they _begged_. They fell to their knees and pleaded with the Makers to have mercy, to save their children from the life they had no escape from but death."

"Why are you doing this?" Dwalin asked quietly.

"And the Valar _listened_ ," he ploughed on, ignoring the question. "The Great Makers heard their plea, and the people were rewarded. They were beckoned on, urged forward, and renewed, they pushed further West. And one day, one day soon after, they came across a great Valley, a lush, abundant Valley that sang to them as their old home once had."

"Wait, what?" Glòin said abruptly. Suddenly the Dwarrows weren't so fierce, more bewildered as they glanced amongst themselves and back to Bilbo. Did they even understand the words coming out of his mouth, or was he better off telling his story to the birds?

"I am not repeating this. _Shut it_ ," he said, glaring.

"Continue," Thorin ordered, eyes intent. "I want to know the ending to this tale."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. He'd be continuing whether _his majesty_ commanded him to or not.

"This great Valley was their new home. Their Makers gifted it to them, and the people vowed to care and love for this precious place for as long as their kin rested there. It took them a few decades to finally cross the river and settle in properly, but well. It's known, now, on maps as The Shire. Eventually, that people came to be known as Hobbits, and they reside there even now, upholding that promise, to protect and love the lands that were bestowed upon them. Leaving the Shire... is a difficult situation to explain. Once upon a time, we had no home. To look elsewhere, to search for a hearth beyond the borders of what was made for us is, well, an insult to the ones who wished it to us. It disregards every sacrifice and sufferance of our ancestors. It isn't forbidden to leave, we are each our own person, and a Hobbit has to do what a Hobbit has to do. But, our gaze tends to turn inwards, in any case. We feel the pull of our lands far too much to leave on a whim, and we will never forget, that the rest of the world has very little mercy for homeless folk, especially its smallest."

"That's why you didn't want to come with us?" Ori asked. Bilbo nodded, gaze falling to his lap as his lips turned down at the corners.

"No Baggins has properly left the bounds of The Shire since the Harfoots settled and the tribes established the family lines. We have always taken our responsibilities very seriously. I am the only son of the eldest son of the eldest son of my family. That position brings great weight, great expectations." 

"You did it anyway?" Bofur's statement sounded more like a question, and Bilbo could see they all wanted to know the answer to the unspoken request for an explanation as to why he would flaunt his people's duties and traditions to follow them.

Absolutely not telling them _that_.

"The Harfoots of old had great friendship with the Dwarves of the Misty Mountains. Much of our history of the time is oral, but there are snippets here and there of great treaties between us. Call it acknowledgement of friendships past." Bilbo waved impatiently, gaze skittering away from accidental contact with another, redirecting again. From the corner of his eye he could see Ori had found a quill and parchment and was nodding rapidly as he made a few notes. 

"There is one group of Hobbits that _does_ leave The Shire, though. Even though we had a new home, a land that we loved and cared for, there was still the place we left behind. Our Makers had gifted _that_ place to us, once, and even though it was touched by evil, we still felt the pull of duty towards the lands that once nurtured us. To leave a place where we could connect with the ones who created us, to leave that to the touch of evil seemed... wrong. The Fallohides, especially, being the ones most active in the caring of our lands, committed themselves to enduring the plight of travelling the wilds, to go and tend to that place, comfort it, see to its care 'til it withered. That group continues to do so, even to this day."

"And where is that?" Balin asked, fascinated with the tale.

"Well. Here."

"What?" came the echoed question from half the listeners.

"The Vales of the Anduin. As far down as the Gladden Fields and beyond, and farther North, right up to where all streams flow down to create the Great River, just a bit South of the Grey Mountains. My folk stretched all across these lands. We were a semi-nomadic folk then; the Tribes would travel amongst their territories within the woods here to care for it." 

"And they still come here?" Fíli asked, captivated.

"Mmhmm," Bilbi hummed in the affirmative, rocking back a little at the looks he received. "I found my kin marks yesterday. If I recall right, there are a few of my Took cousins in the latest, er, let's call it an expedition; one of my Uncles, and a few other assorted kin. They should be a bit North of us. Still semi-nomadic whilst living here, but I am told that there are deep-built Smials of old they travel between. Be a bit of a pain to spot a deep-built, but I'm confident that they won't be too hard to find. Hobbit holes are always well-stocked, no matter where on Middle Earth they are, so we could supply ourselves and rest better."

"So, your plan is... to go find Hobbits?" Bofur asked, somewhat incredulous. "Will they... be welcoming?"

"What do you mean?" Bilbo asked with a frown.

"Well, will they want us in their Deep-whatsits?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Bilbo's face scrunched, head tilted to the side in his befuddlement.

"They are Hobbits, in Hobbit sacred ancestral grounds. And we are Dwarves," Glóin said firmly. "There is cause for concern."

"No, no there really isn't," Bilbo told them with no small amount of exasperation. "If I thought that would be a problem, I wouldn't even suggest it. They are my kin, and you will be welcomed, clear?" He gave the group a meaningful glare, until they all nodded. "Good. Here is what we will do. We'll get Thorin here ready, rub him down with Breath and dose him with Ugly Pea leaves, and Glóin, too, I think, while the rest clear the shelter and put it back to rights. By the look of my kin-marks, I believe they may be a few hours North of us. It is early enough that if we set out soon, we can search for a few hours, and if we find no sign of them, if I cannot find a Deep-built Smial for us to shelter, we'll return here to wait for Gandalf."

"And what do we do about the Wizard?" Balin asked.

"He can read Khuzdul, can't he?" Bilbo confirmed. "Then, can one of you go back to where you came down off that great bloody staircase and leave him a sign of some sort? Tell him we are headed North. He'll find us, he's good like that."

"Bifur and I can do that," Ori volunteered. 

"Excellent. Dwalin and Óin can take care of Thorin and Glóin while the rest of us clear this place out."

"Actually, you should get Thorin ready," Dwalin interrupted. Bilbo tamped down on the urge to flail and splutter and instead settled on a rather loud gulp. 

"Er, why? Exactly?"

"You know what you're doing with that Breath stuff, and I'll probably be better help to the others with..." Dwalin glanced around the enclosure then, frowning. "What exactly do you want done in here?"

"We, uh, we need to..." Bilbo shook himself, already jittering over the position that Dwalin had just landed him in. "We need to get this place close to how it was when we arrived. Free the tree branches above, clear out all the bark and such we collected, extinguish the fires properly and stopper the tunnels at least at their ends. The wall could probably stay as is, if you want."

"Why, exactly?" Nori asked, shrugging when Bilbo turned an incredulous look at him. "I mean, if we are coming back here later, it will just make more work, and if we aren't, who cares?" 

"Because it's _polite_?" Bilbo sputtered. "Because it is common courtesy to clean up after ones self? Because this place was perfect for us when we arrived, and we can leave it perfect for the next who stops here? Because our destination may end with half of us dead by Dragon and the rest dragging ourselves homeward in despair and won't it be nice to have a place we know we can stop to lick our wounds if necessary that won't be filled with half-rotted vegetation and creatures that live in such dank? Because the less evidence we leave of our trials and travels the better, now that we are being hunted by Orcs? And most importantly," he glared around the circle of round-eyed Dwarrows. "Because _I said so!_ " he ended with a holler, glaring around at them all. "So _move it_."

There was, Bilbo had to admit to himself, a part of him that was gleefully satisfied at the sight of these buggers jumping to do his bidding, hurrying to do as told as if he actually had the power to do something terrible to them if they didn't comply.

Worst he could do was refuse to make them dinner, and all _that_ would do really, was force them to burn their own squirrel. A terrible fate indeed, he snorted to himself. Any moment they would realise that, but for now, they were getting the work he needed done, and hopefully they would be finished before they realised he had no right to be issuing them such orders.

"So," Thorin said from behind his shoulder, and oh, that's where those horrible boys got it from. "I believe you're taking care of me?"

"Sweet Valah in the after," Bilbo gasped, clutching a hand to his chest as his heart just about exploded out of his chest. "Months of travelling with you lot, I've never had any indication that any of you would be capable of sneaking up on a deaf unconscious donkey in the middle of a roaring Spring Festival, what with those great clodhopper boots of yours, and now you and your wicked boys seem determined to kill me with all the tiptoeing to equal a fauntling nicking cakes from cold pantries."

Thorin stared. 

"Deaf, unconscious..." he said slowly, frowning in bewilderment. "No, I don't think I can even process what you just said. Are you going to help me with this, or shall I do it myself?"

"I'll be helping," Bilbo said bravely, heart fluttering in his chest. It hadn't escaped his notice that Dwalin had volunteered him to a job that would require him to run his hands all over Thorin's skin. Covered in a gel that burned very cold, even still, all that warm flesh for him to touch with a legitimate purpose...

He was a bad, unforgivable Hobbit. Eru Ilúvatar himself was _judging_ Bilbo's wicked nature right now.

Not that that would stop him.

"Well," he rasped around his suddenly dry throat. "Let's get you rubbed down, then, yes?"

Thorin choked, and actually _blushed_ , and perhaps this wouldn't be so bad if Thorin was embarrassed about all this as he was. And with Óin and Glóin with them, Bilbo could just ignore the situation, surely?

"Bilbo!" Óin boomed, appearing beside him. "I want to take Glóin to go and soak in the cold of the stream for a bit, take down some swelling. Gimme those leaves of yours and tell me how they work."

It was like the universe was deliberately torturing him. Someone, somewhere, was howling with laughter.

Fine, he thought. Just, _fine_.

"Crush well and smear," he sighed, yanking a few leaves from his pocket and handing them across. "Start around the injury and work inwards. It will burn something fierce, and then settle to a more pleasant warmth, with some numbness. Wet your fingers in between applications so you don't end up losing all feeling in them. Most unpleasant."

"Noted," Óin said, grabbing the leaves and disappearing out the nook with a protesting Glóin in tow. Thorin cleared his throat and nudged him, and Bilbo started to realise he was standing so close to the other. 

"Shall we also move out of the way of the work of this lot?" he suggested, and Bilbo swallowed back an audible gulp and nodded dumbly, following Thorin outside and a fair few paces away from the entrance, Dwalin appearing briefly with a scowl, presumably to ensure they were still within shouting range, Bilbo thought, smiling wryly.

"If I sit here," Thorin asked, gesturing at a moss covered rock, "will you be comfortable to work?"

"'t's fine," Bilbo murmured, locking his eyes on the woods around them, anywhere other than a Thorin who was still blushing a little and looking at him with beautifully soulful eyes. "Lose the covers."

"Pardon?"

"Er, take off your tunic." Honestly, speaking so familiarly to a King. He'd been so good, this whole trip, remaining as proper as one could be when interacting with a King on a daily basis, and now all of a sudden he was snapping and bossing the poor sod around like he had any right to be bossing about a majestic-

Wow. Majestic. Muscles. So lovely.

"Right," he stuttered, sliding to plonk at Thorin's feet rather ungracefully, which had nothing to do with any sort of weakness of the knees. Where to start, that's what he was staring so hard for, wondering where on all that gloriously, surprisingly golden, very attractively furred skin, to start smearing sticky mess of leaf-matter. That was his only reason for staring. Honestly.

'Exactly who are you trying to convince?' annoying self asked mockingly.

"Right," he managed again, yanking all the leaves out of his pocket and setting them on a patch of the rock, before reaching for the... "Bugger."

"Something the matter?" Thorin asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I forgot the...." He stared at the waterskin that Thorin held out for him. 

"You told Óin to keep his fingers wet," Thorin reminded him. "I thought we'd need it."

"Right." Verbosity. Why did it insist on escaping him so?

Nothing for it, just get on with it, he thought, sprinkling water over his fingers and crushing a leaf quickly. 

"Aargh!" Thorin jumped a mile when Bilbo smudged his gel across a particularly swollen black bruise. "That bloody _stings!_ "

"Give it a minute," he soothed, rubbing his clean hand across Thorin's thigh, comforting him as he rocked and hissed through his teeth. "It will get better."

"It is," Thorin breathed a minute later. "I apologise, I was not expecting that. It is quite a... _strange_ sensation. Please, continue."

"We can take it slow," Bilbo assured him, still petting. Bilbo, move your hand off the nice Dwarf's leg, there's a good chap. 

Thorin's hand was somehow wrapped warm and gentle around his wrist, and it did not seem to be trying to prevent his inappropriate touching. How odd.

"With the pile you have there, ready to inflict on me, were we to proceed too slowly, we will be here to sundown, and I will be robbed the opportunity to meet your kin."

"If you hadn't been so foolish as to rush at great hulking Orcs on your own, we would not have so many bruises to cover," Bilbo reminded him, leaving his hand resting on Thorin's lovely lovely thigh, with that great gentle paw wrapped around it as he reached a little awkwardly for another leaf, hoping Thorin wouldn't notice the angle he had to twist to reach the leaves with his uninjured hand.

If he did, he wasn't saying anything.

"I will remember that, when next such a situation arises. What our little Hobbit will do to me," he clarified when Bilbo glared at him, "if I am so foolish as to arouse his ire."

Bilbo humphed, somewhat flustered at the propriety nature of Thorin's statement. It was odd, really, how jumping atop an Orc and shoving your sword in its chest a few times or ten would integrate him into a Company of Dwarves so readily.

On second thought, it really shouldn't surprise him _at all_. Honestly, why hadn't he thought of killing stuff as a way of breaking down the cultural barrier sooner?

Silly.

The second lot of leaf matter made Thorin's breath audibly hitch, and his hand tighten around Bilbo's wrist. The pressure was not that of an unhappy warning, though, more a plea for comfort, so Bilbo gripped the warm thigh beneath his hand, waiting for Thorin's breath to regulate before he reached for another.

A few minutes of the same, working through a few leaves, before it occurred to Bilbo how comfortable the situation was, how easy it was to touch and lean into this lovely dwarf, how pleasant it was to simply sit, without need for speech. 

Which promptly made him very very uncomfortable.

It had to be exhaustion. Or an after-effect of too much terror experienced in a short space of time. Tucked away in this little tiny portion of Middle Earth; their whole situation felt surreal, too lovely, too peaceful. His mother would have told him that was a very Baggins approach, the inability to enjoy something because you were too worried about enjoying it. Or becoming uncomfortable at a feeling of being comfortable. 

Conversation would help, surely, a distraction for both of them, but just about every topic that could be discussed with a Dwarf, and every other beside, seemed to have fled his head, and he flapped his mouth helplessly for a second before snapping it closed, aware of how ridiculous he must look to the other.

"Was there something of which you wished to speak ?" Thorin asked.

"Er-" Bilbo stuttered, mind still a _painful_ blank. Seriously, _verbosity_ where have you gone to in my hour of need?

"If you have something you wish to ask, I shall do my best to answer," Thorin promised, thumb working its way under his wrist to rub gently against his pulse point.

"Right," Bilbo nodded, mentally smacking himself. Do not say 'Right' again, ridiculous Hobbit!

Actually," Bilbo asked tentatively after a few moments of awkwardly searching for something to say, as he caught sight of Kíli wondering in and out of the burrow, "I was wondering something."

"By all means, Burglar."

Bilbo crushed another leaf between his fingers as he thought of the best way to ask the question that may have Thorin's temper come forth.

"Speak, Bilbo. I will attempt not to bite if I do not like what you ask."

"Yes, yes," Bilbo sniped back, smearing his pulped leaf on a particularly nasty mottling of bruises, if only to wipe the amused look from Thorin's face. "I was going to ask about Kíli."

"You want to know about his fascination with my daughter," Thorin stated, hissing at the intensity of the burn in his side.

"I'm just- Kíli seems... devoted? I was wondering why you were so opposed, that's all."

"Truthfully?" Thorin said slowly, "I'm not. Couldn't be more pleased, actually. Don't tell him that, though," he grinned when Bilbo looked at him in disbelief.

"Then why the, the-"

"Violent opposition?"

"Yes, that."

"Hmm. To understand that, I may have to tell you a few things of Dwarrows," Thorin hummed, shifting a little in place as the burn turned to a pleasant tingle layered over a relieving numbness. "How old are you, Bilbo Baggins?"

"Excuse me?" Bilbo asked, pulping another leaf while he chose a spot to apply it.

"Hobbits, I do not know of your aging process. Are you like Men, or more like Dwarrows, I wanted to know. To clarify certain things."

"Uh huh," Bilbo huffed. "As a matter of fact, I am almost fifty-one. Getting into my middle-aged years, Hobbitly speaking. Generally, we can expect a lifespan of between eighty and one hundred years, some longer. Eleventy-one is an auspicious birthday to achieve. My Grandfather was the longest lived Hobbit in our recorded history, living to the age of one hundred and thirty." 

"Fifty-one," Thorin murmured with no small amount of disbelief. " _Almost_ fifty-one?" he asked suddenly, eyes darting up quickly.

"Almost," Bilbo hedged, shrugging when Thorin stared keenly. "In the next month or so, actually. I should start issuing my apologies now, I should think. I did not anticipate being in the middle of nowhere with the lot of you when my birthday came around, so I am afraid I have no gifts to give to any of you."

"Gifts for us?" Thorin asked incredulously. "That- no. I am going to want to know more about that later, and also the exact date of your birthing celebration, but I fear we are drifting from your original question. If you are considered middle age at fifty, when are you first... developing?"

"Developing?" Bilbo asked in confusion, dabbing a long line of gelled leaf down warm skin. Thorin hissed and jerked.

"Cruel Hobbit," he moaned. "Yes, _developing_. When does one start feeling.... urges. _Desire_ ," he gritted out when Bilbo continued to look blank.

"Des- Oh! Oh, oh my. Um, well. Hobbits are considered full adults by the age of thirty-three, but that, um... well, generally, a lad will begin to feel, er, _that_ by about eighteen, nineteen? Sometimes a little earlier, but mostly by the age of twenty. Why, exactly?"

"For Dwarrows, all Dwarrows, male or female, we are physically incapable of experiencing pleasure of the flesh until we are in our sixties. Some occasional cases of late fifties, but generally, one simply can not feel any sort of... earthly desire, until their sixties."

Bilbo frowned, working more leaves between his fingers as he pondered the relevancy of this particular physical fact to their discussion. A sudden thought had him stilling in horror, wide eyes meeting Thorin's waiting gaze.

"So, your daughter, she-"

"She was thirty-eight, when it happened. She was a sheltered child- she had a tutor for her learning, attended no community schooling, had few friends, rarely left her family home. What was done was terrifying for her, not only for the act itself, but for the fact that she literally was unable to understand what was being done to her, even on an instinctual level- her body was just not developed enough. She didn't understand what, or why, only that it was infinitely painful and inescapable. Her body was also unable to react accordingly to make the act somewhat more... comfortable."

"That... that-" Bilbo's voice shook around his dry throat. "That is... horrifying. I cannot even..."

"I know," Thorin said softly, lifting his free hand to wipe Bilbo's cheek, and he realised with some shock that a a tear had slipped from his horror-widened eyes. "To this day, I cannot decide whether her inability to experience a physical response was a blessing or a curse. Normally, when the accusation of such an act occurs, there is an investigation, but due to her age, it was not much of an issue. Her pregnancy proved the act had in fact taken place. Truly, we were unaware that our Dams were even _capable_ of conceiving before their bloom, but..." he ended the slightly bebothered ramble with a shrug. "I would do anything to have spared her that experience, but her daughter, my beautiful grand daughter- I am so thankful that such an awful thing at least brought such joy. My Yrith has said many times since, that she would endure it a thousand times over, as long as it always led to our Yrís. She is a strong Dam."

"I don't doubt it," Bilbo agreed, sniffling slightly. Acts such as that were almost unknown to his people. Truly, he had heard more of it through news of the neighbouring town of Bree, amongst their Men, than anything. They tended towards very public and vicious punishments, and much gossip about any such happenings. He was pretty sure there were Hobbits who would honestly not be able to comprehend that sort of crime, it just didn't _happen_ amongst them.

"The one who did it?" he asked tentatively, and Thorin sighed, eyes falling shut.

"During the investigation of her previous parent, a letter was found amongst his possessions. The... offending party was a worker in the deep portions of the mountain, in the maintenance of what we call the deep pools. They are a, well, I will tell you of them later. A few of the workers had discovered a spore growing in a stagnant pool that when accidentally inhaled, made one feel... euphoric. Combined with his propensity for excessive drink, however, had made him confused and volatile. His letter had expressed his horror for what he had discovered he had done once he had come back from such a state. He had thought she was someone else, and had certainly not meant to hurt her. Amongst his rambling apology, he told her he intended to seek penance for his crime with our Maker. He had taken his own life just a day after he had taken her."

Bilbo shook his head, speechless. Such a terrible, tragic situation. Just terrible. Thorin shook himself and cleared his throat.

"Yrith had been sworn to marriage when she was very young. After I became her father, she was quite wary, that I would arrange a new marriage for her. I assured her, from the first day, that she would not marry unless she wanted to, and not until she was of age. When we had reached the Blue Mountains, though, and she met Kíli... well, any with eyes could see that they had both found their One. It wasn't until many years later that she realised that the act that she had experienced was an expected part of a marriage between two people."

"And then she discovered..."

"That married, it was expected that she would endure that pain on a regular basis for another's enjoyment? Yes. The only other time I had seen her so distraught was during the birthing of her daughter, which as you can imagine, was a whole new level of terror for her. It was... a failing of mine as a parent. I hadn't realised until that moment how she perceived what should be the joining between people that held love and desire for each other. That she thought it a cruelty, and did not understand why bonded dwarrows would force such an act upon one that they professed to love.

"Even further to my failures in parenting, I used my own marriage as an example of healthy intimate relations between two people. Unbeknownst to me, she had come to the conclusion that it must only be a horrible experience for dams, which I did not immediately discover."

"Oh dear."

"Yes. Not my best display of brilliant nurturing. Luckily, Dwalin intervened. I've no idea how the conversation went, he refused me any part of it, kicked me out and made me sleep at Rísta's."

"Reestas?"

"Rísta, she is the eldest of my younger sisters. Rísta, Dís and Arvís. Rísta is a...." he paused, expression confused. "I do not know what you would call it. Do you have any Hobbits whose work is to assist other Hobbits in worshipping Yavanna?" 

"Hobbits don't worship Yavanna," Bilbo replied without thinking, freezing slightly when he heard what he had just said. _Stupid_ hobbit.

"You don't?"

"Yavanna didn't make us," he defended when Thorin's expression turned slightly accusatory, wincing at his inability to _shut his bedamned mouth_.

"Who did then?" Thorin asked, bewildered. Everyone knew that Hobbits were made by Yavanna, lady of the green things. Hobbits practically worshipped plants.

"Not Yavanna...?" Bilbo offered feebly, uncertain what to do now that he had just let loose one of the greatest of Hobbit secrets. 

What was _wrong_ with him?

Thorin's frowned at him a moment, before his eyebrows lifted and he stared at Bilbo somewhat incredulously. 

"Did you just tell me something you absolutely weren't supposed to?"

Bilbo's only response to that was to plaster a great gob of gel onto a large bruise and watch Thorin yelp, glaring all the time. Hobbit secrets were excellent secrets, because others didn't know they ever _had_ any secrets. Until he opened his great giant gob and yabbered like a fool at a Dwarf.

"We have clerics, if that is what you are asking," Bilbo blustered, eager to deflect, almost biting his tongue, since they _also_ did not normally tell outsiders anything about their faith and worship, either, not even that they _had_ any sort of faith or worship. 

"Hmm," Thorin hummed, eyeing him thoughtfully. "My sister is Juzrâl, what in Common is probably best summed up as Priest, a Ghurfinh, a... a Dam that sees to the altars... it is difficult to explain, without explaining the entire makeup of our faith. Suffice to say, she keeps off-hours, because of her position, and is a thoroughly unpleasant person to be around at the best of times, so has no lovers hanging about the place. If ever any of us have need of a place to sleep or whine because of relationship troubles, or anything, really, we usually end up at Rísta's, much to her dismay."

"I see...." Bilbo said slowly, turning the idea of Thorin calling another person a thoroughly unpleasant person over in his mind. Perhaps it was genetic, then, to be so?

"You are confused?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo shrugged, not wanting to admit that he'd been contemplating the idea of hereditary unpleasantness. "I suppose you are wondering when I am actually going to answer your question?"

"Oh," Bilbo startled, realising that they had strayed quite drastically from his original line of enquiry. "Yes."

"There was a point to all that," Thorin assured him. "I wanted you to understand what she has been through, how hard it has been for her to contemplate a marriage after all she had been through."

"It must be difficult for her," Bilbo murmured, wiping his gunky hand on the grass as he finally finished coating Thorin in the stuff. 

His other hand was still on Thorin's leg. Still held warm at the wrist.

"My Yrith... her strength as a Dam is shaped by her past experiences. She loves Kíli desperately, and Kíli loves her in return, unconditionally. They will one day be blissfully happy together, because she is strong enough to overcome her past and reach for her happiness. Despite that....

"There are still days where I see hesitance. A hint of fear, a moment of uncertainty. And though she has hinted and teased and asked in round-about ways, she has never asked me outright if I would let her court and marry Kíli. I _know_ that she knows that I would say yes, should she ask, so I am well aware that the reason she does not is because she is not quite ready. Not that she thinks that. And I would never put her in the position of having to consider if she is ready."

"I don't understand," Bilbo admitted, shifting into a better position, shuffling onto his knees, Thorin steadying him without thought, too busy searching for the right words.

"If Kíli asked, Yrith would marry him tomorrow. She takes comfort in the fact that she doesn't _have_ to. She fears _fear_. Yrith does not want to look at herself and see the scared broken thing that life had made her into, doesn't want to remain the victim all her life; she wants to be strong, make her own choices based off _choice_ , not fear. I don't want to present her with a situation where she has to question if she is as strong as she has convinced herself."

"So, you..."

"Kíli would not push for anything that Yrith was not willing to do. She just would never say no to him, because she loves him, _and_ because she doesn't want weakness to drive her decisions. It would break his heart if he ever discovered she had done something she wasn't ready for, and it would break hers to ever have to say no to him. As long as father is there, grousing and yelling and overprotective, Yrith may pout and stomp without care or consequence, and Kíli is too busy trying to convince Uncle to allow him to court, and there is no situation for them to be put in where either of them has to be inadvertently hurt. They can just be a young couple in love."

"But Father and Uncle become the enemy so they can be carefree," Bilbo pointed out softly, cupping his free hand to Thorin's cheek. Thorin sighed, head tilting into his palm, eyes falling shut a moment.

"They are still children, despite the evidence. With all else I cannot give them, what pains I cannot make them forget, I can still give them this."

Bilbo didn't exactly know what to say to that, so he just leant into Thorin, silently offering whatever support a silly old hobbit of little consequence could offer.

"You're a wonderful father," Bilbo said finally. "I'm sure one day they will thank you for it."

"I just want to see them happy," Thorin admitted quietly, like it was a terrible thing to admit aloud. Dwarrows.

"As long as you don't make yourself unhappy to make them so," Bilbo admonished, at a lack at what else to say. Thorin's expression was warm and amused, though, so he mustn’t mind over-much.

"I am not miserable, contrary to popular opinion. I have my family, my kin and companions, I have my Dwalin, and, well..." he trailed off, gaze dropping and expression turning into something like bashfulness. But he turned the hand that had been holding his wrist all that time and slid it under Bilbo's, interlocking their fingers, and raising his other to fold over Bilbo's on his cheek. "And honestly," he continued, voice a heated whisper that shivered down Bilbo's spine, "torturing Kíli is quite the perk, really."

"Oh, you-!" Bilbo admonished, and Thorin laughed, low and happy, leaning in to knock their foreheads together ever so gently, and how could Bilbo possibly resist leaning into that like a great eager puppy.

Which is when Bilbo realised precisely the position he was in, at about the same time as he registered Dwalin strolling up to stand beside them.

Bilbo was certain he had seen some of those flowers whose name escaped him at the moment since a good percentage of his being was gibbering to itself in a corner of his mind, those flowers that could be crushed to make dark red ink. And Ori surely had a quill squirreled away on his person that he could borrow. Dwalin may even allow him the time to compose a few amendments to his Will, before it was time to draw the dotted line around his throat with 'Chop on Line' inscribed above.

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked, drawing back some to look him over. "Is everything alright?"

"You've gone white as a sheet," Dwalin said, dropping to his knees beside Bilbo and rubbing his back. "Do you feel ill?"

Bilbo mutely shook his head, jerkily drawing his hand back off Thorin's cheek, ignoring the pang at having to do so. He quite didn't notice how his other was clutching Thorin's hand quite tightly.

"I'm fine," he told them faintly.

Every time he thought he might know a little about his companions, he would suddenly realise that he didn't understand Dwarrows. At All.

"I can have the lads reassemble the bed, if you need to lie down," Dwalin assured him, feeling his forehead, and Bilbo attempted a noise that may have sounded like a negative.

"Well," Dwalin frowned, not looking too happy with Bilbo, and finally, a response he understood! "We're all ready to go, just waiting for the both of you to finish your very important chat."

"Bilbo had questions," Thorin protested, letting Bilbo go to hold his hands out to Dwalin, who stood and helped Thorin to carefully rise to his feet.

"And you chatted his ear off?" Dwalin teased, as both of them offered a hand to help Bilbo up. He stared at them both before accepting Dwalin's help, ignoring Thorin's hand, and his ( _adorable!_ ) subsequent pout.

The others, Bilbo realised, were standing off to the side a ways, truly, all packed and ready to leave, and Bilbo had to wonder how long they had been standing there while he and Thorin had been talking. He could feel the blush starting all the way down his neck at the thought. Honestly. They could have _said_.

"Right," Bilbo nodded, stirring himself enough to bend for the waterskin, and head to where Bifur was holding his quite ruined jacket, and his poor mangled pack. "Right," he nodded again as he got himself assembled correctly, doing his level best to ignore the gentle way Dwalin was carefully folding Thorin into clothes, mail and furs.

"Time to find Hobbits?" Kíli asked eagerly, bouncing in place, as Dwalin and Thorin wandered over, and the group raised themselves out of their various slouches to look to Bilbo with focused glee.

"Time to find Hobbits," he agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am beginning to understand I am my own worst enemy. I wonder how long I would hold on to things until they were actually 'done' if not berated into posting by the exasperated and wonderful (I am looking at Beta-Beth- she needs applause for putting up with my made-up words and apostrophes and stuff, yo).
> 
> So, I feel the need to apologise for the distinct lack of warnings for some of the content of the previous chapter- I absolutely am a dumb arse, and did not consider that some of Yrith's back-story could be very disturbing for some people. elenorasweet, especially, babe, I am so, so sorry. *points at self* Complete idiot. I'm also sorry it took you pointing it out for me to notice. Could I be anymore inconsiderate? Sheesh!
> 
> (For those of you who do not mind my COMPLETE and UTTER MORONITY, and are sticking about regardless, there is nothing like that in this chapter, if any of you were wondering. Now that Yrith's back story is done, details on that will be few and far between.)
> 
> Also, part of this is akblake's fault, with her comment after chapter three, about Dwarrows and ropes and primary school teachers....

Walking through the forest looking for Hobbits, Bilbo seemed to have acquired a growth or two. Large ones. Dwarf shaped, even.

Two hands came at him, one from either side, to help steady him over a fallen branch, and Bilbo fought a sigh. He didn't need steadying _at all_ , in fact, if anyone needed steadying, it was these two, since they didn't seem to be watching where they were going, too busy trying to lend him a hand. 

The sigh escaped.

"Alright there?" Dwalin asked, taking his elbow again briefly.

"Capital," Bilbo said, twisting to shoot another look at the Dwarrows behind him. They were all far too.... _amused_. They didn't seem to think that there was anything unusual about the two attached to him, at least, the lot of them seemed pretty calm about it, if unusually _amused_. 

"Is something wrong?" Thorin asked, hand on his shoulder to urge his gaze forward, and another sigh escaped.

"Just wondering if we should take a break, is all," he said, instead of sprinting for the nearest dark hole and gibbering at the prevailing crazy.

"Break time!" Thorin called over his shoulder almost instantly, and Bilbo would have felt a flash of annoyance, if he hadn't noticed a grimace of discomfort coloured with the tiniest amount of relief flash across Thorin's face.

Despite that, after shoving an Ugly Pea leaf and a water skin at Dwalin and instructing him to dose his husband, he scarpered with a muttered excuse of needing to speak to Bofur, circling around to tattle on Thorin to Óin, just to ensure a safe escape.

"Bofur, make like we are talking about very important things."

Unfortunately, the response to that was a look of intense glee, with Ori sliding over to sit with hand over his mouth hiding his far too wicked looking smile.

"Is something the matter, dear Bilbo" Bofur asked all too innocently, sprawling back and radiating smug amusement.

"I fail to see what is so funny about this."

"Course you don't," Bofur chuckled. 

"Dwarrows are infuriating creatures; did you know that about yourself?"

"Personally?" Bofur grinned. "Absolutely. Can't say about the others though. You may break their fragile little hearts, telling 'em."

Ori errupted into giggles, and Bilbo made what was a _very_ rude gesture in the Shire, but it just made the two accursed Dwarrows snicker at one another before glancing over at where a gorgeously half-naked Thorin was having his exquisitely muscled arms rubbed down by his fearsome-yet-tender warrior-husband -not that Bilbo had noticed….much- which made Bofur break out in guffaws and Ori laugh harder, so he sighed, and slumped down beside them.

"So what 'very important things' shall we discuss then?" Bofur asked after the laughter had finally calmed. "You've been having a lot of important talks the last day or so, haven't you?"

"I have. It's been most enlightening."

Ori handed him the water skin, and Bilbo drank, glancing around the group for a moment and counting them all off in his head to make sure they were there. Watching Fíli chat to his Uncle for a moment, Bilbo thought back over everything he had learnt the last day or so.

"Bofur," he asked after a moment. "Fíli was telling me some things yesterday, I was wondering if I could ask you... well. I never really know with the lads if they're being serious or pulling my leg."

"What's on your mind, then?" Bofur asked lazily from where he had popped his hat down over his eyes. Bilbo shrugged, glancing about the group while he sipped from the skin.

"Nothing in particular, more just... Fíli was telling me of all the relationships of the group. That you're all related in some way to each other."

"Aye, that's usually the way we tend to travel. Who can you trust more than kin?"

"So, he wasn't pulling my leg about... anything? Bombur's married with a herd of children, Bifur has a son, and Balin really is courting Dori?"

"Yep," Bofur answered flippantly, grinning. "Why would you think otherwise?"

Bilbo flushed, eyes falling to his lap for an intense study, avoiding Ori's interested gaze.

"No reason in particular... he had been teasing me about something just before that, so I wasn't sure if he was being honest or not." 

Bofur tipped his hat up and regarded him a moment before dropping it back into place.

"The lads like their fun, to be sure, but when it comes to talking of family, I doubt Fíli would intentionally fib to you."

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. 

"If you don't mind me asking, Bofur, are you courting anyone at the moment?"

Ori choked, eyes widening more than Bilbo thought possible for eyelids of any species to accomplish and Bofur flailed in place, grabbing his hat from his face and bolting upright.

" _What?_ "

"Er..."

"Kulhu birâglâbizu?" Bofur demanded, eyes darting about the clearing. Bilbo frowned at him.

"Er..." Bilbo stalled, not entirely sure what it was he had said wrong. 

"Formal response, if you please, Mister Bofur," Ori said, face suddenly hard. "In Common, and I'll vouch as witness."

"Er..."

"But," Bofur protested weakly, breath gasping. "It ain't right, he's _üzidinâl_ he's said as much before, he's ghachûn kherum üzidun -"

"Er..."

" _Formal_ , Mister Bofur-"

"Er.."

"I'm a _Miner_ , for goodness sakes-"

"Er..."

"Will you hurry it up before somebody comes over here? Like Mister Thorin or Mister Dwalin?" Ori hissed, kicking Bofur in the leg.

"Er..."

"Zabirakhajimuhazu, achrâchi gabilul-" Bofur started, mopping at his forehead with his hat.

" _In Common_ , for goodness sake," Ori said, eyes darting around at the rest of the Company.

"-I am not currently looking to Court at this time, though I humbly thank you for your interest and regard."

"Er..." Bilbo honestly, had no idea what to say. He'd thought he and Bofur had been getting along pretty well along this journey. Granted, the other did say things at time that completely baffled him, but for the most part, he had felt like he understood the Dwarf pretty well. 

He hadn't expected a reaction like this to a question.

He didn't understand the reply to his question.

Dwarves.

"Alright," he finally settled on, when the two sat and stared expectantly at him. "I did not mean to upset you."

Bofur blew out a relieved breath and slumped back, fanning himself with his hat. 

"Honestly, what a question. Why would you do such a thing, Bilbo? And here I was thinking you were a good sort!"

"Bofur," Ori admonished, though he too looked whole buckets of relieved since Bilbo's puzzled response. "Maybe they do things different in the Shire. I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"Yes, I think there has been," Bilbo said, fighting the growing urge to gibber and rock; an urge that seemed to come to him more and more every moment of every day in recent times. 

"So...?" Bofur said slowly, face twisted in confusion.

"It's something I would ask any of my cousins on a visit?" Bilbo said, somewhat confused, because, honestly, it was just a question. It was _just_ a question.

"Wait, you were asking as baruf?" Ori asked, brightening.

"You regard me as kin?" Bofur said before Bilbo could answer, regarding Bilbo with something a little like awe.

"I- well... I have become quite fond of you in the course of our journey," Bilbo started, not certain how exactly to answer.

Truthfully, yes, this lot of grunting maniacs had become quite dear to him over the last few months. Almost like family, yes, in that they made one irrationally fond despite all odds, and were so very irritating one could happily wile away their time with daydreams of strangulation after enjoying their lovely company.

"I... I don't know what to say, Bilbo," Bofur said, sniffing slightly. "Just that, you- I- That is to say. You're baruful for me, also."

B-baruful?" Bilbo asked tentatively. 

"Like family," Ori said softly, and a little bit wistful.

"Oh," Bilbo said, looking at Bofur, a little misty-eyed and patting Bilbo's hand, pleased and gentle, and Ori looking slightly jealous, and shrugged. "Well, you lot, The Company, I mean, you're all, of course all of you are, er, _Baruful_ to me, now. Like family, as, well, we have been through so _mu-_ "

His clumsy stuttered attempt at reassurance was cut off due to the rather unfortunate state of becoming the squished meat in an Ori and Bofur sandwich. 

"Can't. _Breathe_ ," he choked out into Bofur's tunic. Ori whined somewhere above him, and petted his head.

"What's going on ever there?" Dwalin yelled from across the clearing. "Why are you squishing the halfling?"

"He said," Ori said, tight and teary. "He said..."

When it appeared Ori couldn't seem to get anything else out, and indeed, seemed so overcome that his grip on Bilbo tightened -and Bilbo gurgled in response- Bofur managed to sniff out "Baruf, the Company, named us all Baruf."

There was silence for all of about three seconds before Bilbo was wrenched free of the dwarvish sandwich, and almost immediately clutched into another by Bifur he assumed, from the tunic and the muttered comments. That didn't really last before Fíli and Kíli both hollered that Bifur was hogging their new uncle, and he was passed along. Only for them to be bopped on the head and snatched by Óin, dusted off, and re-squished into the elder Dwarf's chest.

"Oh, you're a wonderful little thing, halfling, a brand new baby brother to play with! Look, Glóin!"

"Give him here, brother," Glóin bellowed back. 

"I'm not a _babe_ -" Bilbo tried to argue with no small amount of consternation, but he'd already been snatched up by Nori and squeezed, and oh! That was definitely not a place to squeeze a _family member_ thank you very much! But he'd already been shoved into Dori's arms before he could object, and sniffled over, and then Bombur was complaining that he was _always last_ , so there Bilbo was, wrapped up in Bombur’s very lovely hug- at least one of these oafs knew how to do things properly- and then Balin had him.

"Nadadith," Balin whispered to him, before holding him close. 

"What does that mean?" Bilbo asked quietly, more than a little shocked at this stage, hugging the overcome dwarf back. 

"Younger brother," Balin said quietly. "Ughvashâ nadad. Greatest treasured brother."

"I don't deserve that," Bilbo said quietly. 

"You do. You do."

Bilbo... Bilbo really wanted to question what on all the conquered lands he had done to invoke such a response from them all, but for some reason, he was quite overcome. Damnable Dwarves. That, and Glóin had already snatched him back, and was tugging him over to sit with Bombur, squishing him between the two of them on the grass. 

"I... don't understand," he finally confessed on a rush of breath.

"Understand what?" Bombur asked, petting his curls, as if Bilbo was a rather large cat of some kind. With curls.

"Why is everybody being nice to me?" he half whined, sagging back into Glóin's soothing back rub. These two were awfully good at hugs. Perhaps because they were both fathers?

Neither of them answered him, the silence stretching for a long moment, and when Bilbo glanced between them, they both carried slightly uncomfortable expressions on their faces. Suddenly, Bombur sighed.

"I'm sorry Bilbo," he said, face wrought with regret. "When you first joined us... well, we didn't know what to make of how you acted around everybody. It was confusing; what we expected and how you really were, so different. And we might have...."

"Judged you by Dwarven standards," Glóin finished for him. "And then when we realised that perhaps Hobbits were a bit different in their social behaviour-"

"We really didn't know how to deal with it," Bombur said. "So, we tended to let you be."

"And now it is occuring to _all_ of us, that perhaps we have been a bit backwards about this," Glóin nodded, giving Bilbo a meaningful look and side-head-tilt towards the other side of the clearing.

"Besides," Bombur said, even as Bilbo's eyes travelled in the direction Glóin motioned and briefly landed on Thorin and Dwalin sitting, heads close and whispering softly to each other. Their hands were entwined on the grass between them, he noticed. "You have been treating all of _us_ differently since we escaped the mountain. You've been much nicer, yourself."

Bilbo felt himself give a most comical doubletake, his eyes opening wide. 

"I have?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh aye," Glóin said, scratching at his beard and yawning. "Your little display after we escaped the mountain, well, that's the first time you've acknowledged Thorin since we started this journey! And then you went and defended him as you did, I told them, I told them ages ago, Hobbits are different, he just needs time."

"Time," Bilbo said slowly, wondering what exactly Glóin meant by 'acknowledging'.

"And then everything that you've done since that great rock back there," Bombur waved one hand back towards the 'Carrock' monstrosity. "It's been so different. We, none of us, had any idea that, that-"

"Balin said back in Rivendell, that perhaps tradition should be flaunted on this occasion, seeing as there was a Hobbit involved. Granted, he was talking about Dwalin taking the lead instead of Thorin as the higher rank, but I still think we could have had all this sorted by now, if we had just..."

"Yes, but Ori nearly had a conniption," Bombur chuckled. "Wailing about how he was supposed to make it sound respectable if we chucked hundreds of generations of tradition out the window and acted so inappropriately."

"I will admit, this does make one hell of a story!" Glóin agreed, descending into his own great stomach-deep chortles, and Bilbo shook his head in helpless frustration. 

" _I do not understand a single word out of your mouths,_ " he hissed, reaching to tug on his own curls as an outlet to his churning emotions, but the two redheads seemed to find this hysterically funny, and their chortles turned to bellowing laughter. 

Bilbo's teeth made the most disturbing screech, grinding together as they were. He closed his eyes, trying very hard to remember what came next after ten when one was counting backwards, very aware of the many sticks and fallen branches around them that he could surely use to beat some sensible statements from his Dwarrows.

"New Uncle Bilbo!" Kíli sang out, and Bilbo's eyes snapped open to glare at the youngen bouncing his way across to him. "Uncle Thorin wants to know if New Uncle Bilbo thinks we should head out soon, or whether he wants to rest some more?"

"Whether _I wish?_ " he half shrieked, aware he sounded more than a little hysterical. Kíli's brows went up at the tone, and he took a step back, even as he grinned in a most satisfied way.

"Yes!" Bilbo half bellowed. "They want to know my wishes? _Yes_ , I wish to move out now. Right now!" He glared across the clearing at Thorin, but he and Dwalin looked delighted, grinning and nodding and Dwalin bouncing up to pull Thorin to his feet.

_Grinning._

"We are going that way!" he bellowed, pointing wildly. "Right now!"

Oh look, _thirteen stupid grinning idiots, oh he was so done, they were so annoying-!_

Not looking back to note the lot of them crashing after him -they were making enough noise to know they were most certainly following- Bilbo stomped North.

***

Fifteen minutes of stomping later, Bilbo had cooled down somewhat. 

The day was quite warm, despite the cooler breeze of the start of autumn blowing. It was just too exhausting to be maintaining a temper in such conditions; not when there was a fine sheen of sweat on the brow, and breath rasping harsh in the chest from exertion. And a rumble in the tummy that reminded one that breakfast was quite a ways behind, and no hope of lunch to come.

Really, he may have overreacted a little. Fancy getting oneself in a flap over people being _nice_ to him. Oh, his mother would throw her hands in the air in exasperation.

She'd also be chomping at the bit to tear strips of these Dwarrows of his, too. Or prank them silly. Or belt them around the ear with her long-handled pans.

Silly as it was, Bilbo actually missed his father most, at this very moment. Bungo may have seemed ill-suited to his mother by those who didn't know them, but Papa had been the soft to her sharp, the steady to her bounce, the home to her horizon. He was a calm, quiet ear when Bilbo needed to whisper his fears, the warm arms and lap full of comfort when one needed a place to hide from the world and its worries- no matter that he was rather past the lap cuddle stage (the Dwarrows, his mind whispered, didn't seem to think so, the way they'd been coddling him lately). While Mama would smother him in kisses and defend his honour and help him wreak vengeful havoc on the Dwarrows for driving him mad with their crazy, Papa would have wise words and a clever perspective that would make every turn of phrase these idiots used seem to make more sense, all their actions suddenly logical. Papa had always been good at that.

At the moment, Bilbo could not seem to find enough of his Bagginsy self to see the calm and the logical. 

One of several conclusions he had come to, was that he had been far too impatient with Bombur and Glóin. With all of them, really. Bombur and Glóin had basically apologised for past wrongs, half-arsed and confusticating an apology it had been. It wasn't fair that he take his temper out on them when they had only just reached a stage where they embraced him as one of them so easily. Isn't that what he had wanted all along? Becoming short with them for treating him as such seemed petty, no matter how much seemed to be lost in translation between them in every conversation. It wasn't serving him, to be so impatient with any of them, when it appeared there was much, much, _much_ more to his interactions with them then he originally thought. It had even seemed, from his conversation with Glóin and Bombur, that they had been waiting on something from him! Could that be what Glóin meant as his declaration to Thorin, defending him from Wargs? That he had been declaring himself one of the Company? 

Really?

It didn’t seem to make a lot of sense to Bilbo, after all, he had done all he could to be a help to them all, the entire journey. If placing oneself in danger was all that was needed to gain a place as a valued member of their expedition, than for Bilbo, running out his front door should have been a bloody 'nough! Perhaps not for a Dwarrow. Surely, though, facing Trolls and running from Wargs and facing death at the hands of bloody _Giants_ would have been enough, but in the world of Dwarven logic, apparently not. Perhaps it had to be personally with Thorin, since he was leader. Had Bilbo shook Thorin's hand at his front door and declared that he could throw himself in front of a horde of Orcs to defend Thorin should he fall, they would have avoided all this misunderstanding and been the best of the friends from the very beginning.

Who knew.

Regardless, he thought with a sigh, running his hands through a blooming bush of blossoms, enjoying the kiss of the soft petals against his skin. Regardless, he had to have more patience with them. Despite everything, the silly gits had seemed overjoyed at being declared his family. It was only just starting to dawn on him, really, that he seemed to have acquired a vast network of brothers and, by the sound of those ridiculous lads, _nephews_ \- though how 'baruk' made the bulk of them his brothers and the lads his nephews he credited to that odd Dwarven logic again. Either way, he had family, now, thirteen new family members, and by the sound of Fíli and Kíli's happy burbling, he had acquired all _their_ family as well in addition. Cousins and uncles. Nephews and brothers. Third cousins umpteen times removed. If his own hobbit kin relationships weren’t complicated enough to work out So all those people that Fíli had told him of that he could barely keep straight, he would have to deal with in a few months. And, oh help, he would also no doubt have a whole host of recently acquired bearded aunties and sisters demanding bristly kisses from their new relation! That is, if things got off to a better start with them than that of their hopeless males had. Perhaps if he smothered them in sweets... He did have months to plan. 

First, they had to get to Erebor.

Beside that, what Bombur had said had been niggling at him through his annoyance. Apparently, these last few days, _Bilbo_ had been nicer. It was odd to think that in all this time he had been trying not to intrude where he was not wanted, keeping a respectful distance, maintaining his respectable politeness even if they were in the middle of nowhere far from civilisation, all that, could have been perceived as _Bilbo_ keeping himself apart from The Company. It was startling, and also sort of embarrassing, really. That he had been behaving to them exactly how he wished they were not treating him. What a silly situation to be in.

He had, of course, made tentative gestures before, but in retrospect, subtlety perhaps had not been the smartest of tactics.

He stifled a laugh, then, scooping to pluck a bright yellow dandelion from the grass as he strode. His silly sods. They were his family, no matter the trouble that brought, now. They were good lads, the lot of them. How could he not be pleased, really, to have gained so richly?

Bilbo smiled widely at the happy glow that brought him, dour mood completely dissolved. Honestly, the air was clear and bright, the forest was lush and bushes and rambling vines all flowered, bright flashes of colour everywhere one looked. The land was humming the way good, proper Hobbit land hummed, the sort of hum of happy trees and busy bees and grass and leaves happily rustling in the breeze. And he had new family, a silly bunch of Dwarrows, but they had been good enough to trail along quiet enough while he sulked....

Oh dear.

He almost tripped over his own feet with whipping around to look behind him, hoping against all hope to find thirteen Dwarrows dutifully trailing behind him.

Bugger.

It was like they went out of their way to destroy all good emotions in his _soul_.

Where had the idiots got to now?

***

He found them wandering around back almost all the way back to where they had stopped to rest.

" _What_ are you doing?" he demanding, stomping up to where they were ambling in circles with confused expressions.

They all jumped, turning with astonished expressions on their faces.

"Well?" he said, when they all stood looking amongst themselves and pointedly staying silent.

"Er," Bofur was brave enough to manage. "We must have lost sight of you."

Bilbo stared. 

'Patience,' he reminded himself. 

"You have sight of me now, do you not?" he asked, after taking a deep breath. They nodded, shamefaced, and trailed over like scolded fauntlets. Bilbo took another deep breath.

"Let's be on our way, then."

Ten minutes later, the crashing of boots through the underbrush behind him alerted him that not all was well.

"This way!" he called after another deep breath of patience. They had, for some reason, seemed to be trying to all forge a path for themselves not one of which followed Bilbo at all. They all halted in surprise, and Ori of all Dwarrows, cursed colourfully, the lot of them turning to follow him again. Bilbo shook his head in confusion, and turned back to the path. 

What was wrong with the gits?

They had barely gone a few minutes before the noise of them following seemed to turn off again.

"Where are you going?" he said with no small amount of exasperation upon turning and discovering his dwarrows wandering off in thirteen different directions _again_.

None of them answered. _Again_. They did all fall into place behind him, but since this was the third time this had occurred, Bilbo was growing somewhat concerned. 

Huffing when they all very silently avoided his gaze -and honestly, contrary buggers could only shut up when he wanted them to speak, naturally- Bilbo dropped his backpack and hoisted himself onto a rock, taking a moment to wipe away the small amount of sweat that had gathered on his brow. The air in the wake of the earlier storm was moist and heavy, and honestly, it made him want to lie and nap the afternoon away, not deal with bloody uncooperative Dwarves. However, knowing his luck, it meant another storm on the way as the afternoon wore on. He really had to get his hopeless horde somewhere safe before then.

They were close to Hobbits. He could feel it. If he could only _get_ them there.

Bloody contrary dwarrows being oddly silent was disconcerting, seeing them sink into another rest stop with not a groan or complaint or smart-arsed remark less than an hour after the last. It was odd.

He frowned, fidgeting on his rock and contemplating throwing something to feel better, but a butterfly landed on his fidgeting hand, and he could not help but smile. Nature is my only comfort, he thought to himself with no small amount of sarcasm, swiveling away from the group to look out over the forest around them. The more genuine thought that followed was just how _much_ the land was starting to feel like home, more a place tended by Hobbits, and he could not help the relieved smile as he ran a hand over a nearby tree trunk. They were so close.

A sudden thought made him frown and he made a small noise of shock as he whipped back around to the group.

"How did you find my home?" he demanded, standing from his place on his rock.

The Company shared bewildered looks amongst themselves.

"You know that we aren't... in your home. At this moment. Right?" Kíli said tentatively from his place half-reclined in a bush, of all places. "We're in the middle of nowhere?"

Bilbo flapped his arms impatiently.

"When you came to Hobbiton with that piss-poor recruitment of yours, how did you find my home? How _exactly_ did you navigate the Shire and find my door in particular?"

"The mark on the door," Balin said, confidently, but Bilbo saw it, the flicker of his gaze ever so slightly.

"Yes, but you had to find my door to see the mark. How, amongst the whole Shire, did you find Hobbiton, let alone The Hill. How did you find my door?"

"Gandalf brought us," Fíli said.

"But you didn't come with Gandalf," Bilbo said with a frown. "You came earlier, before he arrived."

"Yes, but Gandalf met us and led us to your place," Kíli told him. "Until then, Fí and I had been wandering in circles. We were in what I am pretty sure was a pig field when he found us!"

Bilbo stared for a moment, before cutting his gaze to Balin. The slight blush told all, and Bilbo raised his eyebrows as he turned to Dwalin.

"Mahal forsaken land is a great mess of maze," Dwalin grumbled, hunching slightly with a grimace.

"And that is how you became so completely lost," BIlbo said, turning to Thorin. "I wondered how the others seemed to manage and you did not!"

"Dwalin's right," Thorin said with his own blush. "That place is a complete maze!"

"It's not, actually," Bilbo said absently, tapping one finger against his chin as the situation dawned on him fully. "It is actually quite well ordered and organised, but one must be a Hobbit or have a Hobbit's invitation to properly navigate the Shire.

"Right," he said, clapping his hands together and hefting his backpack. "We must continue, but we must do better. I cannot believe I did not think of it before. I need all of you to _keep your eyes on me_ as we walk. This is very important, otherwise we will never get anywhere."

"Eyes on you," Nori repeated obediently with a smirk. "Any particular part of you we should watch?"

Dwalin's fist swung out to the side and had knocked him off his feet in a second, all without taking his eyes off Bilbo, who blinked. Nori was snickering from where he was crawling back to his feet, so he musn't be harmed. And honestly? Bilbo did not even want to know. 

"Just... watch my back," he said with a sigh, working his thumbs under the straps of his pack and turning to traipse along the bare remnants of what Bilbo was certain was a track, though whether it was a deer track or a Hobbit track remained to be seen. 

Five minutes later and Bilbo was grinding his teeth in frustration. This was not working. None of them could keep their eyes on him long enough to concentrate on where they were going!

"Nori," he said through gritted teeth, "Where is your rope?" 

***

"But, why do we have to hold the rope?" Thorin asked again, eyeing the Company lined up along the line Nori had pulled from somewhere.

"It's this, or I murder you all horribly and go home," Bilbo said calmly, scowling at Bofur until he placed his hand back on the rope with exaggerated care.

"Thorin, my love," Dwalin muttered, "hold the damn rope."

"I used to have to do this with the lads back when we were younger," Dori reminisced. "Back when I would go to the market for Amad. At first, I used to stick Nori at the end, so he could make sure Ori would keep a hold of the rope. Later, I had to swap them around for the very same reason," he finished with a glare in Nori's direction.

" _Why_ am I holding onto a rope?" Thorin whined. _Whined_.

"Murder," Bilbo said. "Home."

"I'll let you do the thing later if you hold the rope," Dwalin said with an exaggerated sigh and a meaningful look at Thorin. Complete with eyebrows.

"Ew," Fíli said to Kíli, who nodded emphatically.

"What's the thing?" Bilbo asked cautiously after a moment, somewhat scared of the answer.

"Don't know, don't care," Kíli said with a grimace, and Fíli stuck his tongue out in dismay when after a moment of considering looks in Dwalin's direction, Thorin placidly took a hold of the rope.

"Ew," Glóin agreed with his own grimace.

"I, too, do not want to know," Bilbo said, turning back towards the path and tugging at the rope to get them all moving behind him. 'Liar,' his brain accused, as it hurled many many mental images at him.

I do not need this right now, he lectured himself.

A slight jerk on the rope made him frown, as did the silence behind him again, and he slowed, glancing over his shoulder. 

All thirteen were still accounted for and looking far too innocent, but haste was becoming somewhat of an issue with all the delays, so he turned back to the walking.

Fifteen minutes later, he was going to scream. The tugs and unsubtle hisses and the fact that all of them were somehow dishevelled but staring back at him innocently whenever he turned to look was _driving him mad_.

"If I have to come back there!" he hollored after another moment of grunts and exagerated noise of jostling grated along his last nerve, "There will be _trouble!_ "

"Bifur pushed me!" Bombur complained.

"Babith!" Bifur yelled.

"I need to pee," Ori said matter of factly.

"I'm hungry," Dwalin said glumly.

"Are we there yet?" Óin bellowed from the back of the line.

"Ow! Uncle's shoving!" Kíli yelled.

"Death," Bilbo hissed. "Murder."

"I _really_ need to pee," Ori said, sounding slightly contrite.

Bilbo ground to a halt, massaging the spot where his headache was beginning, breath somehow leaving him in the form of a loud, heartfelt groan. Somewhat surprisingly, the Company actually quieted.

"You can just keep your unhelpful comments to yourself," he told the tree branch to his left with a glare.

"Cousin," the tree said with a great deal of amusement, "I didn't say a thing."

Bilbo sighed.

"Can't you do something about him?" he implored the low grouping of gorse to his right.

"What do you expect _me_ to be able to do with him?" the gorse asked, and it too sounded _far_ too humoured for the situation.

"He's your brother," Bilbo told the gorse with a no small amount of exasperation.

"Exactly. What do you expect _me_ to be able to do?"

"Only," the tree on the left chimed back in, and the laughter in his voice was _infuriating_. "You seem to have something hanging off the back of you there."

"You aren't funny," Bilbo told the tree flatly.

"What exactly are they planning on doing with those?" the gorse asked curiously, and Bilbo turned, taking in the wild eyes and brandished weapons of every member of the Company.

Interestingly, all of them still held a death-tight grip to the rope. _Now_ they were cooperative.

" _Do_ put all that away," he told them.

"What's talking?" Bofur squeaked.

Bilbo stared at him flatly a moment.

"I would venture," he said, holding on to what small speck of calm he had kept in reserve, "that since we are here to find Hobbits, and they call me 'cousin', that perhaps we have _found_ Hobbits."

"Not too bright are they?" the tree said commiseratingly.

Bilbo sighed.

"By the way, cousin," his cousin Haldobras said, lightly bouncing from the tree to peer at Bilbo curiously. "What _are_ you wearing?"

"Leave him alone," Baldoras admonished his brother, sauntering out from the gorse bush. 

"But look at him, brother," Haldobras said, bouncing increasing as his face split into a terrifying grin. "All those years of nagging him to come adventuring with us, and look at him. He's done a simple-headed South-Took and run off in his stodgy Baggins Market Day suit."

"Oh, don't you start that bloody _South_ Took nonsense," Bilbo said with a glower. "Or I shall be telling uncle Hildifons."

"Can't help that I'm from superior stock," Haldobras said smugly, and Baldoras thumped him.

"Leave off, brother. Cousin Bilbo looks one comment off a hissy-fit worthy of a Brandybuck."

Bilbo's shoulders slumped, even as a yelled "Oi!" resounded out of a patch of sapling ahead, and his two cousins started to snicker.

Daisy stomped out of the saplings, eyes burning pure murder, and Bilbo couldn't hold back another soul-deep sigh of long suffering.

"I don't know why you let them rile you up like that," Bilbo told her as she let loose a few thumps at the now-chortling lads. "That is exactly why they make so many Brandybuck comments."

"I'm a Sandbanks, now, you know. Not a Brandybuck," she told him loftily.

"Yes, I do know," Bilbo said with a huff of exasperation. "I sent you an oak embossed rolling pin and matching fluted biscuit cutters as a wedding present."

"So you did," Daisy said, brightening. "Avena was positively green over it. You didn't get her anything so extravagant when she married Hop."

"I didn't," Bilbo recalled fondly, rocking slightly. "Was her own fault."

"The moment she waged war on Bilbo's best spiced relish..." Haldobras snickered, and Bilbo nodded, thumbs reaching to hook into his coat pockets in satisfaction, which is when he noticed he still held a rope in one hand.

"Er," he said nervously, turning to take in the Dwarrows watching bemusedly behind him. "I don't suppose there's lunch?" he asked, turning back to his kin.

***

The deep-built Smial the current caretakers were living out of was not far from where his cousins had been hiding at their approach; only a twenty minute walk -Dwarrows still trailing behind him clutching to the rope- until they were rounding a hillock behind a wall of tree trunks and lo, there was a door. 

Baldoras pushed it open with a flourish, and Haldobras flitted down into the dimly lit stair-case just beyond the door, calling to those below. Daisy sighed dramatically and marched after him and Bilbo started forward, till resistance on his rope made him stop and look back at the hesitant faces of his Dwarrows. 

"It's all right," he told them, startled to see them looking so vulnerable. Honestly, they were great hulking Dwarrows with scary weapons. Who lived in dark caves. What could be scary about a Hobbit hole. "I'll be there the whole time," he said lamely, but they all straightened and expressions turned firm as they nodded, and he headed in, only just catching the ever so slight sound of amusement from his watching cousin.

"Watch your step," Baldoras said, and ushered them in, the door finally closing as they fit the thirteen Dwarrows inside.

"Welcome to Dellhair Pell Fal. Be welcome, strangers, as our guests."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:
> 
> Kulhu birâglâbizu?: What did you say?
> 
> üzidinâl: Land Owner
> 
> ghachûn: Rank man + kherum: Name + üzidun: To hold (as in, own land) = My version of titled land owner. I did mention before that I am somewhat lacking in the linguistics department, yis?
> 
> Zabirakhajimuhazu: Please, very formal, asking for person to do something + Achrâchi gabilul: polite apology =Please, you must accept my apology... sort of. Just go with it *grins*
> 
> This may give you some clues as to what exactly is going on, but I think at this stage, it might just have you all jumping to the wrong conclusion, lols.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had some super awesome help with choosing Hobbit names. Badskippy, Northentrash and Heyerette are all very nice people- and all super talented (if anyone is looking for fic to read, if you haven't read the fics of these three, you are seriously missing out.)
> 
> Also had some problems with choosing an epithet for dear Dwalin, and had some great suggestions from Diemarysues, drakyrna and whatimeantwasthis and my darling Beta Beth over on tumblr, but in the end, my hub picked the name and the story behind, and made me laugh telling it, so it won. I love that man.

"Quite cosy, these Hobbit holes, aren't they?" Bilbo heard Glóin mutter, and a vaguely agreeing hum answered from someone who Bilbo thought might be Bombur. Bilbo might have been tempted to open his eyes and have a look, but he was so very very comfortable in the little pile of cushions by the fire, all his Dwarrows settled in the main gathering room and his cousins finding 'something edible', that he let himself relax and drift for a moment. This, this almost felt like being back in front of his own fire again. 

Except, he thought, even better. This ridiculous lot of Dwarrows. It was a testament to his loss of sanity how comfortable and happy he was to be in their presence. 

Barmy. He'd completely lost it.

"Are you alright?" Fíli asked from right beside him, low, but anxious enough that he couldn't not open his eyes and meet the youngen's gaze. 

"You are the worry-wart of the family, aren't you?" he asked idly, and Kíli snorted as he came to sit beside him.

"He is. He really really is," the younger confirmed, shoving Bilbo over gently so he could share the pillow pile Bilbo was resting on. Fíli huffed and twisted to flop back against Bilbo and Kíli both.

"You act like that is a bad thing," he said, rolling his head back to poke his tongue out at Kíli. 

"I'm fine," Bilbo interjected, before it could dissolve into a fight. "Just a little tired."

"You look more like you're a lot tired," Kíli said, scrubbing an affectionate hand over Bilbo's curls until he swatted him away in mild irritation.

"It's been a rough week," Fíli yawned, wriggling against their legs.

They went quiet, and Bilbo relaxed, humming quietly in satisfaction, eyes falling shut once more.

It was nice, quiet, the Dwarrows seeming to relax into a pleasant, subdued sort of mood, now that it was assured that they weren't doomed to die of starvation in the wild. It was quite reassuring to Bilbo, as well, and he was well enjoying not being the responsible one for the moment, just taking in the heat of the fire with the others.

Just lovely. Right up until the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end.

Opening his eyes slowly, his gaze landed on Thorin and Dwalin, staring from across the room. 

Staring. Rather intently. 

He shivered. The way they stared, with those deep, warm, darkly glowering eyes that sparked with an intensity which put the fire to shame and an anger and hunger that Bilbo frankly didn’t begin to comprehend. 

It should not be as arousing as it was.

Right. Best to ignore it.

Well, that was the plan, at any rate.

"Ummm," he said, trying, and failing, to not look at the staring Dwarrows boring a hole in his head.

Kíli glanced around to see what had him making a noise and snorted a laugh.

"Oh dear," he said quietly, sounding very much like he was suppressing a great amount of laughter.

"Bugger 'em," Fíli muttered. "Sods are being ridiculous. I'm not moving."

"Umm... why? Exactly? Are they staring?" Bilbo asked tentatively, trying to look at the ceiling.

"Honestly, Bilbo, sometimes I wonder how it is you survived to adulthood," Kíli said lazily, eyes closed and head resting on one arm, the other curling around Bilbo's shoulders. 

"Ignore them," Fíli said. "Ignore them and talk to us. Tell me why the other Hobbits were laughing about your clothes," he asked, twisting to rest his chin on Bilbo's knee, putting them face to face.

"Oh, yes, what was that about?" Kíli asked, curling to rest _his_ chin on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Are you two quite comfortable?" Bilbo asked waspishly, wriggling slightly. They smiled at him brightly though, and barely shifted with his wiggles, so he stilled with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

"Hobbits," he began, and vaguely noted a few of the surrounding Dwarrows moving in to better hear. "Hobbits love nothing more than comfort. Comfort is a complex thing, though. One may not feast on good food and rest in front of a warm fire without hard work to grow or buy the food, or chop the wood and clean the fireplace. 

"Hobbits are not a formal folk, but we have found peace in a lifestyle built around tradition and routine..." Bilbo trailed off, uncertain how to phrase what he meant in Dwarrow terms.

"How do you mean?" Ori asked when he did not immediately continue, curling forward in fascination.

Bilbo mused for a moment, phrasing his words carefully. He'd had just about enough of misunderstandings between them all; one step forward in mutual understanding would be a boon. No buggering up required.

"It's difficult to explain," he finally settled on. "I suppose if I explain the daily life of a Hobbit first?" he said, looking around at his listeners hopefully. The Dwarrows all seemed eager, nodding and leaning forward some more.

"Hmm, well. We have rather built our daily lives around one of the chiefest of our comforts: a good meal. First breakfast is traditionally served in the early hours, around six in the morning. One does chores and the harder tasks afterwards, and then settles for second breakfast by nine-ish. From then, the markets are open until elevenses, and then again until lunch. Work is done until tea time, and then family time and home chores until dinner. Most relax by the fire until supper, if they indulge in the seventh -and considered the only optional- meal. That's an average sort of day for a lot of Hobbits.

"For every chore and interaction, there is a sort of unspoken etiquette. First breakfast, for example, is for the residents of a Smial alone, unless entertaining guests that have stayed the night. One _never_ invites oneself to first breakfast at another's home, and it is perfectly acceptable to be wearing one's night clothes and dressing gown for first breakfast.

"Second breakfast," he continued, glancing around to find all the Dwarrows piled in on top of each other to listen closely, seemingly fascinated. "Second breakfast can be shared with a casual guest, though one does not expect formality, and accepts, if dropping in on a friend, that the resident of the Smial may not be dressed for visitors, having most likely have spent the morning busy cleaning or gardening or seeing to their animals. Second breakfast is a relaxed affair, and a spoken invitation is enough, no written correspondence required. 

"Market time, however. One does one’s best to be dressed nicely for market. Smart wear is best, and one must be prepared to exchange polite conversation with acquaintances, serious business discussion with associates, and suffer the gossip of family and assorted relations.

"Tea time is the main meal for entertaining guests. Formal written invitations are often sent for this meal, and equally a formal written acceptance is expected. I, myself, keep a record of such invitations on my engagement tablet. This ensures that if, for example, someone gives me a cake stand as a birthday present, I can be certain to use it when they next come to tea. Little niceties like that are important to Hobbits. And we do like to dress up for these affairs."

He looked around at the engrossed Dwarrows, smiling at the little frowns of confused concentration. 

"It may not seem like much to you, but a certain amount of expected etiquette and assumptions means that there is rarely anything to worry about regarding the little things," he tried to explain. "When you know exactly what is expected of you in terms of visiting a cousin, when it is appropriate to visit, when to wait for an invitation, what to wear to Lunch at Aunt Donnamira's home, what to bring to a Dinner at a friend's home on their wedding anniversary, it takes away a lot of the worry and misunderstandings, some of the stress of normal life. That, in itself, is a comfort. A little less worry and a lot more comfort."

He snuffled a laugh then. "Before you worry overmuch at our funny little requirements for daywear, there is no strict law that prohibits one from flaunting traditions. Tolly Hardbottle has been wearing his pyjamas to Market for the last decade, and Alyss Mayfield will only wear trousers to Highday celebrations, because she says they're easier to dance in. Folks may gossip, but maliciousness is just too much effort. 

"This," here, he pointed to himself and his clothes. "Is what one would wear to Market. Sort of. The coat is -or _was_ \- one of my Highday best, which I would not normally wear with my favourite Market weskit and such a light linen shirt, and I was frazzled enough to wear a pair of my 'dirty chores' trousers, and packed naught but more of the same. If I had not been so rushed and panicked, I would have dug out some clothes similar to what you saw the others wearing: Travel clothes that are hard wearing protect us from the elements, and they're a sight warmer than what I have now! Proper travel wear would have made this whole mad venture a lot more comfortable, let me tell you. See? Comfort from etiquette."

"And what did that fellow, er-"

"Haldobras?"

"Yeah, him," Bofur nodded. "What did he mean by 'South Took'. Waasat?"

"The Tooks are one of the main families to come of the Fallohide line. Back when Hobbits lived upon these lands we are in now, we were separated into three tribes. The Fallohides, the Stoors, and the Harfoots. When the bulk of the Hobbits to come West moved across the river into The Shire, the families developed their own lines and claimed various parts of the land across The Shire. The Fallohides ended up mostly in the Southfarthing, with the Took family lands later becoming Tuckland, though the Brandybucks moved to the river and formed Buckland.

"Now, my great, great, grand-uncle, Bandobras Took, he was one of the wiliest of Tooks to ever cause mischief and mayhem. Quite tall for a hobbit too. He actually rode a horse! But anyway…. In 2747, a large party of Orcs out of the Misty Mountains came down and invaded the Shire, breaking over the border of the North Farthing. It was the first time that Hobbits had ever had to fight for our land, and they went forth and battled, as best as peaceful folk as us could. Bandobras, he led a charge against the leader of the Orcs, and managed to knock the Orc's head clean off his shoulders with a blow from his club! Between that, the archers, and the ferociousness of a group of farmers with their scythes and hoes, the Orcs were driven off, and have never returned. Bandobras was given the nickname 'Bullroarer', for his bravery and for his ferocious yelling when he attacked the Orcs." Bilbo grinned when most of the assembled Dwarves nodded and murmured in approval.

"So, the urge to foolishly storm great Orc leaders on your own is a genetic trait?" Balin asked, and raised his bushy eyebrows when Bilbo turned a glare at him.

"Very funny."

"He has a point," Thorin interjected from the circle of Dwalin's arms, and Bilbo spluttered at him.

" _You_ wouldn't even be here now if I hadn't."

"And you have my eternal gratitude," Dwalin said quietly. Bilbo wasn't sure how to respond to that, but Kíli shifted beside him and jabbed him impatiently.

"Get back to the story," he insisted. 

"Yes, yes," Bilbo huffed. "Where was I? Oh. Now, what has all that got to do with me being a South Took, well. After the battle, Bandobras decided that he should remain in the North Farthing to guard against a return of the creatures that had harrowed our people. The area where he settled was named Long Cleeve, on account of a rather large ravine located there that halted the Orc rampage enough to give our people time to rally a defence. My great, great, great Grandfather was none too pleased his son was refusing to make a home in the Took lands to the south, and being Thain of the time, made a rather foolish declaration -and rather short lived, as it was a ridiculous notion- that no Took may live outside the bounds of Tuckland. So Bandobras dropped the Took altogether and named himself Bullroarer of Long Cleave. He was Baldoras and Hassabras' great great Grandfather. They generally call themselves 'of Long Cleave', but everybody else calls them North Tooks."

"And how does that make them your cousins?" Dori asked, face scrunched in confusion.

"Oh, well, really they aren't, only very distantly through marriage. But all the North and South Tooks call each other cousins. It's part of the unspoken, unofficial friendly rivalry between the North Tooks and South Tooks- who will always regard each other as family, even if a little estranged. My mother was a South Took, so I am close enough for North Tooks to call cousin, so Haldabras gets his 'South Took' digs in where he can."

"And I give 'em a thrashing when they do, since I'm a South Took," a cheerful voice came from the doorway, and Bilbo shoved Fíli and Kíli off to bound across the room and let the older Hobbit wrap him up in a tight hug.

"Uncle Hildifons!"

"Oh, Bilbo, how many years has it been since I set my old eyes on you, eh boy? The spitting image of your mam, you are."

"Except nothing like her at all," Bilbo snorted, pulling back to look at the older Hobbit. "And it has been over a decade since your last visit," he added reproachfully. Hildifons shrugged.

"Getting too much for these old bones to make that trip, anymore," he said flippantly, easing himself into the chair that Dori stood and offered.

"I got the impression from Bilbo that the Hobbits within the lands here were temporary. But do you mean you live here?" Ori asked, half bouncing in place from fascination.

"I do, now," Hildifons answered, somewhat surprised. "The majority of Hobbits here are folk drawn from the new-lands to do a duty. But they have lives in the Shire that they eventually return to. I came here... oh, I've lost track of how many years now. Sixty? Or more? I came for a lark, a bit of adventure before I settled down. Found my calling here, though, and I've only been back to see my family a handful of times since."

"That is quite the commitment," Balin commented with a frown. "To take on such a burden by yourself, so far from your people."

"A Hobbit is never alone on Hobbit lands, Mr Dwarf," Hildifons said placidly, smiling politely.

"Oh," Bilbo said, smacking at his own forehead. "How rude of me! I have not introduced anyone. Everybody, this is my mother's older brother, Hildifons Took, son of the late Gerontius Took. Uncle, these are my, er, well. This is Thorin," he said, going to stand next to the leader of their little group. "Son of Thráin, son of Thror. He is the leader of this Company. Beside him here, is his husband Dwalin, and the two on the floor there are Thorin's nephews, Fíli and Kíli. Dwalin's brother Balin, and their cousins, Glóin and Óin. Balin's intended, Dori, and Dori's brothers, Nori and Ori. Gloín's brother-in-law, Bombur, and Bombur's brother Bofur. Bofur and Bombur's cousin, and also some sort of uncle by marriage to Fíli and Kíli, Bifur. Did I get all that right?" he asked a little plaintively, and Fíli laughed at him.

"It's good," he said, pulling Bilbo back onto the pillow pile and patting his head in an indulgent manner.

"Now all I need is the explanation as to what a bunch of Dwarves did to convince my very Baggins-ish nephew to run off into the wilderness with them," Hildifons said with feigned joviality, and Bilbo did not miss how his Dwarrows all stiffened almost imperceptibly. 

"Grub's up!" Haldobras sang, bouncing into the room, and Bilbo let out a breath of pure relief. For once, his cousin's timing was impeccable. 

"Yes," Bilbo said in relief, jumping back up from the pillow pile. "Everyone up! Time for a proper Hobbit lunch. You can all wash those filthy paws before eating; Hal, show them the wash facilities, will you? And Bofur, you have leaf litter hanging from your braid, try and get rid of some of that, yes?"

The Dwarrows mumbled an assent and dutifully filed out after Bilbo's far-too-amused cousin, no doubt compliant due to the fact that they were to be fed. Thorin, however, moved over to Hildifons, still seated in his chair, watching the scene with undisguised humour.

"I must thank you, for your hospitality, offering to feed my Company as you have. I do hope we have not inconvenienced a member of Bilbo's family too badly," he said, head bowing in thanks, and Hildifons nodded a reply.

"Hobbits are the best hosts in the world, Mr Thorin, let nobody tell you any different. I'd not turn my own nephew away, let alone one he calls friend. Do not worry yourself." Here he waved an unconcerned hand in the air. "We have stock enough to feed your horde through the winter and still not be without, so there is no reason not to rest here a while, in your current circumstances."

"Our current circumstances?" Thorin frowned.

"My nephew has brought you here with no packs full of supplies, and half of you covered in scratches and bruises. It does not take much to see that your travels have not gone as you have planned. Now, do not worry yourself. We have much food, and plenty of space and warm fleeces to bring you comfort for at least tonight, if that is all you will stay. I hope that it will be longer, though. Bilbo looks clear worn out!" Hildifons shot Thorin a reproachful look.

"Oh, I'm fine," Bilbo tried, nervously fluttering. Thorin would be furious if they were delayed too long because the silly Burglar was a bit tired.

Thorin turned and looked him over thoughtfully, though, and Bilbo could feel his face flush a deep dark red when his Uncle's lips twitched into an ever-so-slight smirk at the sight.

"I suppose," Thorin said slowly, "that a few days rest and recovery will not interfere too badly with out schedule."

"And what schedule is that?" Hildifons asked, though he nodded with an air of approval at Thorin's decision.

"We can talk about that later," Bilbo interjected again when Thorin looked as if he would answer, flapping at Thorin to move him towards the door, where Dwalin hovered, watching them. Amazingly, it worked, and Thorin let himself be ushered out the door after only a nod to Hildifons.

It wasn't that he didn't want his Uncle to know where they were going, and what awaited them. It was that he _really_ didn't want his Uncle to know where he was going, and what awaited them. There was no avoiding it, but if he could at least be able to enjoy _one_ evening without the inevitable fussing, it would be a gift from the great Powers beyond the sea.

"You are not subtle," his uncle said, right on cue, as Thorin disappeared down the hall with Dwalin.

"I have no idea what you mean," Bilbo tried, smile wide and fake, ducking off down the hall after the others.

****

"That," Glóin sighed, "was quite the meal." Beside him, Ori belched long and loud, and Bilbo winced, dabbing at his chin with a napkin.

"Twas, wasn't it?" Bofur remarked happily, licking his fingers while Toman Waterfield and his cousin Tobtin Waterfield watched in fascination. The two, plus Ivy Burrows, were the youngest of those on the latest, well, pilgrimage, and were so far completely enthralled with the Dwarrows that Bilbo had brought to Pell Fal. They had apparently made it to the Old Lands without much fuss six months ago, and not encountered any Man, Elf or Dwarrow along the way, so the youngens were suitably impressed by Bilbo arriving with a veritable horde for them to enjoy.

Grigory and Reginald Bumbleroot were so far slightly stunned and disapproving at the manners of the folk dining with them that eve, while Fortham, Folstoph and Farabert- all Tooks of the Southern variety and first cousins to Bilbo through his mother- were too busy snickering over Bilbo leaving the Shire on an 'adventure' to worry too much about whether the Dwarrows were using their forks. Myrtle Merryweather, the last of the group and by far the shyest -amazing that she had made the trip at all, but judging by the looks passing between herself and Folstoph, he shouldn't be too surprised- had tucked herself away beside Hildifons on entering the dining area and said very little the entire meal. 

His kin, at least, had been generous with the spread they laid out, with good cheeses and preserved fruits, and wonderfully fresh breads, with great slabs of smoked hams and warmed fish pies. Bilbo's tum was properly content for the first time since leaving the Shire, and he tried to ignore Reginald's and Daisy's speculative looks between himself and the two Dwarrows sitting either side of him.

Hobbits... could hide very little from each other when it came to their affections. He was very aware of how, how... _unseemly_ his regard for the two - _two!_ \- Dwarrows was, especially as he had introduced them as a married couple, but there was little he could do to control his heart. The mind could be cold, but the heart... Well. He was fooling no Hobbit at this table.

Nonetheless, he was trying to maintain at least the appearance of a polite distance from them, difficult since they were treating him so warmly all of a sudden, and after Dwalin's comment in the parlour, Bilbo was starting to wonder if the two were under the impression that they somehow _owed_ Bilbo for his saving Thorin's life. Like allowing him such leeway with themselves and The Company was in gratitude for his assistance on the cliff, saving Thorin from being butchered by Orcs.

For some reason, the thought was more than a little upsetting. Bilbo did not want grovelling gratitude. He wanted friendship, if nothing else.

"Again," Thorin said gravely from beside Bilbo, nodding at Hildifons at the end of the table, "My thanks for your hospitality."

Hildifons waved a dismissive hand with a grin, and gestured at Fortham and Farabert, who gleefully retrieved a few ale barrels from around the corner of the hall, much to the approval of the Dwarrows and Bilbo's kin alike. 

"We've lots of room, here, being an old clan dwelling. Haldobras, did you show them the lodgings?"

"I did. The hall where you cleaned for dinner, that's all stocked now for guests," Haldobras nodded, eyes gleaming. He glanced at Bilbo, gaze wicked and smirked, mouth opening to speak.

"Any chance of a bath?" Bilbo interjected quickly, not waiting to hear what sort of mischief his cousin could come up with this time.

"I already set the water to heat," Myrtle said, sticking her head around Hildifons to smile at him, nervously ducking back when Dwalin looked her over. "I can show you where when you are ready."

"Oh, now, please," Bilbo sighed, almost squirming off the chair with the idea of a proper hot bath. Thorin shifted beside him, reaching for a tankard and Bilbo grabbed for his hand.

"You should not be drinking ale after all the Ugly Peas we've had to dose you with this last day and night."

"Ugly Pea?" Hildifons asked, leaning in. "They aren't the most reliable, or safe of medicines, nephew."

"I've been careful," Bilbo said defensively. "He could do with something better, though, if you have it."

"Do I get a say in this?" Thorin asked him, arching one brow, smile hovering around his lips.

"No," Bilbo and Dwalin chimed, and Bilbo flushed, standing from the table when Folstoph leaned forward with a fierce look of glee.

"Bath," he said with a nervous chuckle, headed for the door with Myrtle in tow. If he could get through this stay without his cousins embarrassing the every living snot out of him, it would be a miracle. But Bilbo was still intent on the idea of bathing and sleeping warm and dry and clean in a proper bed for the first time in what seemed like an eternity to be wanting to worry about his cousins and his Dwarrows and the way that his little crushes on Dwalin and Thorin seemed to have gotten completely out of hand without Bilbo noticing until now.

In the hall, Myrtle took the lead, tucking his hand into her arm and leading him down, collecting a candlestick of a waiting table and lighting it, leading him down a sloped hall to a cosy door down the end. 

"It's not completely without precedent," Myrtle said suddenly, opening the door to the room and ushering him in.

"What's that?" he asked absently, eying the modest bed and its lovely patched eiderdown, and the knitted blanket folded on the end. And a wool-stuffed pillow, what joy!

Myrtle hummed, eyeing him with a knowing little smile.

"Bristle Fernewth moved in with Verity and Golbo Pinkletop thirty years ago, and never left. Nobody has ever really worried over it. They're all adults, after all."

Bilbo groaned, hands clenching in the washcloth Myrtle handed him. 

"Is it really that obvious?" he asked mournfully, taking the lovely soft towel she handed him, and the bar of fresh soap.

"Completely," she said cheerfully, leading him across the hall to the bathing chamber, lifting the lid off the tub to reveal steaming hot water. "You, my dear, are in love."

"They're married," he said dully, flicking at the water with his fingers.

"So are Verity and Golbo," Myrtle said matter-of-factly. "These things always seem to work themselves out. Have a little faith." With a -rather cheeky, Bilbo thought- smacking kiss to his cheek, she skipped out, closing the door behind her, and Bilbo huffed, stripping off his clothes.

"Oh yes," he muttered, sliding one foot into the water. "Faith. I'm in love with two Dwarrows I have no business being love with. Faith. Because 'things will work themselves out'. What tosh." He sank down into the water, carefully sitting, submerging himself up to the chin and sitting silent and still for a moment.

"Oh, sweet Valah, I'm in love with them," he moaned, slapping one despairing hand over his face.

What a mess.

***

The moment when it all began to go wrong, Bilbo would think later, was the moment the Hobbits had broken out the ale barrels. 

It should have been apparent from the start. Ale. Hobbits. _Dwarrows_. He was utterly doomed from the start and he didn't even realise it.

He woke up with Haldobras hovering over his bed.

A testament to his trials in his travels that he did not scream at the sight, but it was a close thing.

" _Hal!_ " Bilbo hissed, flinging his bedding back. Haldobras backed up a few steps and sunk into the chair by the door.

"Morning," he said, weak smile stretching shakily across his preternaturally pale face, wincing slightly at the volume of his own voice. Bilbo ignored him, sitting and rubbing at his face. Not the best way to wake after his first night in a proper bed after who knows how long.

"I brought you some proper clothes!" Haldobras said with a rather unusual amount of cheer, holding out a pile. Bilbo groaned in gratitude; he was clean from his thorough bath the night before, and his uncle had brought him a soft night shirt to sleep in, but he had dreaded returning to his threadbare linens and velvet coat, even if his family had managed to get them clean. The pile held lovely clean fresh, _warm_ clothes, and even a clean pair of unders. He shuffled up and took the pile, absently aiming a kiss onto Haldabras' curls -he was _very_ grateful- and shuffling off into the bath room across the hall. 

A quick relieve and a scrub of the face, and Bilbo slid into heavy trousers lined with lambswool, that slid all the way down to rest comfortably over the fur on his lower legs. A nice thick woven shirt and a padded vest and he felt better than he had in ages. A Hobbit prepared for the day was a happy Hobbit. Now if he could track down some proper breakfast...

"Bil," Haldobras said from the door, and Bilbo felt the bottom of his empty stomach drop.

"What did you do?" he asked with no small amount of trepidation, and Haldobras gave him one imploring look before slinking back to Bilbo's room. 

Bilbo followed, closing the door and leaning against it, eyeing Hal where he sat rather forlornly back in his chair.

"What have you done?"

"I- I'm really sorry Bil. I... I may have drunk a little too much last night, after you left."

" _And?_ " Bilbo demanded when Haldobras paused.

"And, and... Oh Bil! I just, I was surprised and still thinking of it, and they were there looking so cosy with each other, and I was a little mad, to be honest, and my big fat mouth ran away from me again, you _know_ I can't be trusted with ale and secrets-"

"Please," Bilbo whispered, falling back against the door, legs shaking. "Please do not say what I think you are about to say."

Haldobras gulped, eyes wide. 

"I'm really sorry."

"Hal!" Bilbo cried, sliding down to rest on his bottom, bending his legs up and leaning to hang his head between his knees, taking big breaths to quell the rising nausea.

"Right, alright. I may have mentioned how odd it was that after all these years of watching you not find anyone in all the Shire to spend your life with, all it took was two Dwarrows to make you fall in love. And how you weren't one to dally outside of marriage, and then I heavily implied that Uncle Hildifons would be speaking to them about intentions and such."

"Oh dear sweet Mother-Makers," Bilbo gasped, eyes clenching shut against a wave of dizziness. 

"I was angry," Haldobras admitted. "They have each other, yet here they are acting like they are courting you and making you like them and that isn't fair. They're already married! I didn't mean to, to... I did not mean to tell them the depth of your feelings for them."

Bilbo concentrated very hard on his breathing.

"I haven't told you the bad bit yet," Hal admitted.

Bilbo whimpered.

"The Dwarrows, oh it was so odd, Bilbo! I didn't even think half of them were listening, they were all busy getting into the ale and laughing and singing and such, so I didn't think they'd all.... they all went stone silent, Bil! All closed mouthed, and then one of them slammed his fist down and started shouting about something, and they were all yabbering in that odd language of theirs, and then they all took off. Locked themselves into the one room together, and Farabert and his brothers have been taking turns checking on them all through the night, and they've said the lights have been burning and they've been arguing and carrying on all the eve, all through to this morning. Everybody is a bit scared to knock and ask them to breakfast, to be honest." 

Bilbo wanted to say something, he truly did, but there seemed to be something stuck in his throat, and he clenched his hands in his hair instead, desperately trying not to panic.

"Bugger," he managed to whisper shakily. " _Bugger!_ "

"Bil-"

Bilbo shushed him, tugging on his curls a moment more.

"They called me family yesterday," he said finally. "It was... nice. You know I've never really been anyone's in the Shire. I'm a little too Took for the Baggins, too Bagginsish for the Tooks, and not a lot of anything to everybody else."

"That's not true," Haldabras said. "You're loved, Bilbo. Your family loves and admires you, and you are respected friend to many."

"I know that," Bilbo said, finally leaning back to thump his head against the door. "I'm just not anybody's first choice, am I? I'm nobody's favourite and not the best fit for anywhere in particular, am I? I just thought, for a little bit there, that as odd as all those Dwarrows are, and rude and silly and- well. I wondered for a moment, if I maybe fit with them better than I had being the odd Bagginsish Took, or the Tookish Baggins, or 'odd Mr Bilbo who is still a bachelor at his age and lives all alone and prefers his books to people most days how strange'."

"You might still be!" Hal insisted. "You can just tell them I'm full of tosh and tell some tales when I'm tonkered, and no fuss no foul, see? Just a bit of jest, nothing to worry about."

"They're oblivious idiots until you want them to be, and then they're stupidly insightful," Bilbo told him dully. "There's little chance I shall be so lucky as to get that past them."

"Perhaps they'll be polite and pretend?" Haldobras said hopefully, and Bilbo sighed, thunking his head back against the wood door a few more times.

"If only. A couple of days ago, Thorin and Dwalin loathed my very presence. I doubt it will take much to reignite that lovely hatred."

Haldobras opened his mouth and shut it again, staring at him helplessly, and they sat silently for a long time.

This... was inevitable. Bilbo had known deep down that there was no way he was ever going to get to keep that sudden respect and affection from his stupid Dwarrows, that mixing the lot of them with Hobbit kin was going to end very, very badly for him, but it had come down to a matter of saving his silly Dwarves from starving in the wilds. He didn't regret bringing them here, but oh, he regretted bringing them here. 

Hobbits, he reminded himself with a vicious mental kick, had big mouths.

A sharp rapping at the door he was leaning on made him jump and gasp, heart thundering in his chest.

"Are you two done moping in there?" Grigory asked impatiently. "Only breakfast is ready, and Hildifons wants to see you."

"Bugger," Bilbo sighed, pinching his nose for a moment, before taking one deep, fortifying breath and rising slowly off the floor. 

"We'll be right there!" he called as calmly as he could manage, and straightened his weskit, turning to face Haldobras.

"Time to face the music," he sighed, and reached for the knob.

***

Hildifons had not seemed to find this matter the tragedy that Bilbo did.

"Things work themselves out," he'd said calmly, steering Bilbo to sit with him, and sending Haldobras off to fetch Bilbo breakfast. "Never mind that. Tell me about your Dwarrows."

Bilbo had spent a few futile minutes trying to impress upon Hildifons the seriousness of Hal's actions, but Hildifons calm firmness and a plate of toast and butter and porridge and thick ham steak and mushrooms, coupled with his tired resignation of probably being firmly ejected from the Company at some point had him gloomily reminiscing over each of the members of his little group of questing Dwarrows in probably a lot more detail than he normally would have been willing to part with. 

He'd managed breakfast, and the better half of a large pot of tea with his Uncle before the Company made a sudden appearance, Thorin and Dwalin in the lead, a small case held tightly in Dwalin's grip. 

They stomped in purposefully, all of them ignoring the still-laden table on the other side of the room, still set and waiting for them, and solemnly made for where Bilbo sat.

Or rather, to where _Hildifons_ sat.

"Kin of the one named Bilbo Baggins," Thorin said gravely. "Hildifons of the ancestral lands of the Hobbits."

"Aye?" Hildifons frowned.

"I, Thorin, called Oakenshield, on behalf of myself and my Consort, Dwalin, called Stoneskull, come to you in supplication. A great error, a misjudgement has been made. Dwarrows... we do not.. I-" Thorin's voice stumbled, and he looked slightly panicked, glancing across to Dwalin, who looked equally wide-eyed.

"An error has been made," Balin stepped in smoothly. "Had we been aware that Hobbits require family members to speak for them in matters such as these, we would of course have approached this situation much differently, you must understand."

"Of course," Hildifons said calmly, and Bilbo eyed him askance. Once again, these idiots were making zero sense, and expecting everybody around them to understand what they were on about. Balin seemed satisfied, though, and stepped back, gesturing sharply at Thorin and Dwalin, who were shoved forward again by Nori and Óin.

"We have a gift," Dwalin said roughly, eyes cutting across to Bilbo for a moment before flittering back to Hildifons. "For your nephew, Bilbo Baggins."

"Oh," Hildifons said, and Bilbo could well see his confusion mirrored in his uncle's eyes.

"Will you view its acceptability?" Thorin asked, shifting in place.

"I will," Hildifons said slowly, and Thorin nodded tightly, turning to the box in Dwalin's hands, unclasping the little lock on the front and lifting the lid. Thorin stepped back and Dwalin stepped forward and lowered the box.

It was a... bracelet, Bilbo was fairly certain. Like a cuff. It was metal, of course, silver, if Bilbo guessed correctly. He wouldn't call it pretty. Handsomely made, and the workmanship was stunning, every detail precise and intricate. But it was none of the little dainty style of bracelet Bilbo would have seen on Hobbit ladies at home.

He was fairly certain that the line work running through the middle of the band must say something, but it was in the sharp runic language Bilbo had witnessed Ori writing in many times, and Bilbo was not sure if the Dwarrows would stretch to telling him what it might say. The intricate pattern either side was complex, though peaked into a funny design involving a crown and many stars in tiny blue stones. It was certainly a beautiful piece, and surely a great gift by Dwarrow standards, Bilbo was sure, a rich gift, a fine gift. 

Bilbo was just not entirely sure why they were gifting it to him. Now. _Here._ After...

"Does- Do you find it acceptable?" Thorin asked Hildifons carefully, and his uncle raised his bemused expression to Thorin.

"I do," he said, shrugging, and Bilbo gulped when all thirteen Dwarrows turned expectant gazes on him.

He stared.

"Well?" Fíli asked impatiently after a long moment. "Do you accept?"

Kíli shushed him, yanking him back by the tunic, Dori tutting loudly.

"Don't pressure him, Fí," Kíli whispered loudly, though he turned hopeful eyes on Bilbo, and that, coupled with the desperately hopeful looks on Thorin and Dwalin had him nodding and stepping closer, gaze falling back to the box.

"Yes, yes of course I accept it," he said, heart in his throat. 

The Dwarrows were silent and staring for all of about ten seconds before Ori whooped loud enough to wake the dead, and Bofur threw his hat in the air and jumped on Bombur and the whole lot of them started cheering and clapping each other on the back and Dwalin stepped closer, and Thorin lifted the bracelet from the box and offered it to Bilbo.

Bilbo took it, examining it again, before turning it and looking closely at the part that seemed to be hinged to swing out of the solid piece. Dwalin handed his box off to Balin for a moment, stepping forward to undo the clasp, and Thorin slipped it around Bilbo's wrist, and the two of them swung it shut and flipped the clasp and it was on.

It was... comfortable. And not as heavy as Bilbo had worried. And, he had to admit, looked very nice on his wrist. If there was ever a piece of jewellery that Bilbo could wear, he would definitely consider wearing this piece. 

Dwalin sniffed abruptly, turning to bury his face into Thorin's shoulder and the rest of the Company cheered again, and just as abruptly disbanded, wandering off in a group of happy chatting to attack the breakfast table. 

Thorin smiled at Bilbo, soft and happy, and Bilbo was quite helpless, unable to prevent his own happy smile from appearing.

***

An hour later, Bilbo still wasn't entirely sure what exactly had happened. 

Thorin had tugged Dwalin off, speaking in Khuzdul to him quietly, and the others had been a little muzzy but cheerful, chewing on their breakfast, and Bilbo had exchanged one helplessly baffled look with his Uncle, before wandering back to his room. He had meant to start collecting necessities and supplies for the Company together, knowing Thorin would want to resume their journey sooner rather than later, but instead had found himself sitting on his bed, gently turning to the silver cuff around and around his wrist, admiring the work.

The more he looked at it, the more he loved it. He wasn't sure what it meant, what the words said, or the designs might represent, but it made him warm just to look at it. It was quite possible that he may never take it off. The clasp was a clever thing, a sturdy piece that Bilbo was relieved to note, would not release if bumped or knocked in their travels. He would hate to lose it, he thought. 

A knock on the door startled him, and he called an entry, expecting a cousin or another of his Kin to enter. Instead, Thorin and Dwalin hovered in the doorway, and Bilbo's eyes widened, before he waved them forward.

Thorin ushered Dwalin into the chair opposite the bed where Bilbo sat, and stood hovering over him, gripping one of Dwalin's hands tightly. Dwalin's gaze honed in on Bilbo's fingers tracing reverently over the dips and eddies of the bracelet and he grinned happily, tugging on Thorin's hand to bring his attention to the same, and Thorin smiled at Bilbo, so happy, so warm, before his face fell solemn again and he sighed.

"I believe it is past time we talked."

****


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-Beth, people. She's a Hobbit. I am convinced. Most especially because she is firm in the belief that courting should always involve cake. (This is true). But she is super awesome at catching my idiotic mistakes and gives great advice. Round of applause, people, round of applause.
> 
> Now, don't be thinking we are nearing the end of the story, peeps. I still have quite a ways to drag you all *grins*

Previously:

_"I believe it is past time we talked."_

Now: 

 

"Bilbo? May we speak with you?" Thorin asked, hovering in the doorway. 

He was still clutching at their gift, he absently noted as he ushered them in mutely, still reverently fondling the beautiful bracelet around his wrist, still quivering all over at the thought of them bequeathing something so beautiful to him, of all people.

Oh, he was so stupid. He was so very in love.

"What can I do for you?" he asked quietly, sinking on to the bed as Thorin ushered Dwalin to sit in the lone chair, Thorin hovering over him and gripping one of Dwalin's hands tightly.

"I, ah... I wanted to-" Thorin shifted uncomfortably in place a moment, and Dwalin huffed, tugging on the hand he held and glaring over his shoulder until Thorin gulped and nodded and took one deep breath. 

"I have come to apologise."

Bilbo looked between the two a moment, taking in the hopeful expressions of the two seated opposite.

He absolutely had not been expecting that.

"Apologise for what, exactly?" he asked, lightly running his fingers over the grooves of the cuff absently.

Two sets of eyes dropped to his lap and watched the progress of his fidgeting. He blushed and curled his fist away, ignoring how pleased the two of them looked.

"My behaviour these last few months," Thorin said, pleased look melting to something less happy. "You deserve an apology. An explanation. I do not mean to offer you excuses for my behaviour!" Thorin hurried to say. "Merely show that I did not mean you such hurt, but, I have come to understand that I have been mistaken at times by your intentions, and behaved in a manner unfit and undeserving for both of us. And Dwalin. I thought to explain my actions to you. So you may understand better."

"Alright," Bilbo said slowly. To be honest, he was still quite stuck on the two of them presenting him with such a fine gift. And now, they were to have a serious discussion of Thorin's behaviour?

The dead-in-a-ditch-and-dreaming theory was looking quite plausible.

"I-" Thorin began, but almost immediately hesitated. Dwalin squeezed his hand again and kissed the knuckles gently, and Thorin sighed.

"I admit, in all these years, I never expected, well, you. We've always known we would find you, but I never anticipated a Hobbit. I admit, when I arrived at your home, I was more than a little stunned."

"I can understand that," Bilbo admitted slowly. After all, Gandalf hadn't told him to expect a horde of Dwarrows in his Smial, he wouldn't put it past Gandalf to omit that their burglar was a Hobbit!

"I was stunned enough, that I chose to ignore what you were to us, and treated you badly. In my defence, I was already very worried about our quest, and my kin and our goals and, well. No, that is no excuse. There should be no defence presented here. I should not have questioned the fact that you are a Hobbit, but accepted the will of Mahal."

Bilbo nodded, frown of confusion in place. He wanted to question what on earth Thorin meant by everything that had just come out of his mouth, he really did, but by the Others, Thorin looked so sincere, so he kept his peace and his mouth shut.

"I have to admit, as well, that seeing Dwalin that night on arriving, that I let his distress colour my opinion of you immediately. Do not blame him, though! I had not seen him in some months, both of us having been travelling for work and to prepare for the quest, so on top of my surprise, to see him after so long, but so confused and shaken, I gave in to the instinct to defend my bonded from distress, from you, one that I saw so _wrong_ for us. That was... unacceptable, and against all that I was taught, all the standards I was brought up to strive for."

"Thorin-"

"Let him," Dwalin said, halting Bilbo's interruption, and Bilbo closed his mouth again. He didn't entirely understand half of what Thorin was talking about, but he rarely did with any of these dwarrows. It seemed ridiculous for Bilbo to be the cause for such distress and self-recrimination.

Thorin nodded gratefully, and swallowed loudly and then nodded once more to himself.

"Despite all that, I still expected you to come to us; despite my dismissal of you, I expected acknowledgement from you. I was.... furious that you did not. That you found me wanting, even as I knew that it was my own fault, and that further fuelled my ire, which I churlishly unleashed upon you. I had no idea that Hobbits initiated such matters through kin; but I should make no excuses; that is not why I have come. I should have had more patience and not assumed you spurned us callously. There are no words to express my sorrow at my appalling behaviour. I am beyond grateful that you have chosen to gift us with a chance, when I deserve none."

"That's... I... Well. I think you're being a little harsh on yourself," Bilbo said, when Thorin gave him a woebegone look from beneath thick lowered lashes. "Hobbits are not as fragile as all that, and you aren't on this quest to baby my poor feelings. I truly have no quarrel with you."

"You are too generous with your pardon," Thorin said with a frown, shifting in place and his expression twisting slightly at the movement.

"Oh, you are hurting," Bilbo blurted, standing quickly and taking the few steps to Thorin's side, Dwalin rising in alarm at whatever he had seen in Bilbo's expression, turning to Thorin with a glare.

"I am _well_ ," Thorin insisted at Dwalin's look, but sighed and allowed Bilbo and Dwalin to push him to sit regardless.

"You are supposed to be recovering," Dwalin scolded, and Bilbo tutted and gently shoved him into a more comfortable position.

"How are you meant to lead us if you're limping and half dead, exactly?" Bilbo asked idly, while Dwalin poured a glass of water from the pitcher by the bed and returned to shove it into Thorin's hand.

"There's no weakness in allowing yourself time to heal," Dwalin said, even as Thorin sighed in resignation and sipped from the cup.

"We're not going anywhere for a bit, be easy on yourself for once," Bilbo added, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a huff, barely noticing when Dwalin mimicked him without thought.

"I see how this is going to be," Thorin said, expression of mock dismay warring with a contented grin. "Eternally out-numbered."

Bilbo frowned in confusion, but Dwalin was attempting a scowl and failing, looking far too pleased to appear disgruntled and shot a look full of meaning at Bilbo that the poor Hobbit quite did not understand a bit of, before levelling a grin at Thorin.

"There's a reason Mahal chose to saddle you with both of us- you're a damn stubborn sod that needs nagging from both sides."

Thorin laughed, soft and happy, shy grin darting to include Bilbo, who couldn't help his return smile, no matter how besotted he may appear.

"Your Uncle gave me medicine for our daft lump here, but warned it would make him quite sleepy?" Dwalin said to Bilbo, who nodded.

"I believe I know the one. He'd be best to lie down for a time after taking it."

"I shall be taking him to bed, then," Dwalin decided, and Thorin made a noise that was somehow distinctly naughty, and Bilbo flushed, even as Dwalin shot his husband a disgruntled expression.

"If you think that is happening with your side looking like it does, you've got another thing coming."

Thorin grinned, unrepentant, but allowed Dwalin to assist him to stand carefully.

"I must tell you what I came here for, before taking our leave," Thorin said, turning to Bilbo and stepping in close. He laid one gentle arm upon Bilbo's arm, expression earnest now. "I do not expect forgiveness from you, though I hope I may gain that rightfully, at some time in the future. But I shall work hard in my actions to earn your trust and respect from here on out. I hope that you may have faith in me, in this task, at the very least. And that you know the depth of gratitude and humbleness I have in the face of your willingness to allow us a chance, still."

"Don't be ridiculous," Bilbo said, hand coming to cover Thorin's on his arm, and glaring at him gently. "Far too weighty words for such a paltry matter. You may not earn my forgiveness, Thorin, because you already have it. If you mean to go on in trust and respect, than that will be the way between us, but that is all I need."

Thorin considered him, face soft and fond again, glancing happily up at Dwalin, who had crowded in close to the both of them, Bilbo bracketed by comforting bulk.

"Our Hobbit is a wonder," Thorin said softly, and Dwalin hummed in agreement, running a hand down Bilbo's back, eyes narrowing at Bilbo's -quite involuntary- shiver.

"Dibs," he said suddenly to Thorin, who spluttered. " _Dibs_ ," Dwalin insisted, and his hand slid up into Bilbo's curls.

Perhaps he should have understood what was coming, but as it was, he was shocked to pliancy when the hand in his hair gently tilted his head back and Dwalin's lips swooped to take his own, fierce and gentle all at once, feeling his hands fly out to grip the closest steadying surface, which was Thorin's broad chest and the covering tunic, his gasp of blissful disbelief lost in heat and tongues and the blanking of his poor mind, barely able to rouse himself when Dwalin's steadily insistent assault ended with a series of nipping pecks of his lips that had blood pooling quite low into certain parts of his anatomy.

He blinked, small noises he barely understood escaping his poor lax mouth, and Thorin chuffed a low deep growl of a laugh, and leaned in to take his turn, slower and more thorough, but deeper and with a wild edge of barely restrained want. Bilbo's knees wobbled and weakened, and Dwalin wrapped his arms around Bilbo's waist, snuffling into his neck while Thorin managed to turn the last shreds of his mind to complete mush. 

Thorin parted from his mouth slowly, eyes bright and darting in to press a hard kiss to Dwalin's grinning lips, Bilbo still pressed between them.

"And so we have contract between us," Thorin said, fierce and grinning, and Dwalin pressed one last kiss to Bilbo's temple before they released him and traipsed from the room, throwing grins over their shoulders as they left.

***

Later, Bilbo would not be entirely sure how long he stood dazed and blinking in the middle of the room he was using as his own, not exactly sure if he had hallucinated the whole encounter.

It would be nice if his brain could think anything beyond 'buh'.

Instead, he was left standing here like a numpty with his fingers to his lips wondering if he was awake. All signs pointed to yes, and by the state of his tingling lips, what just happened had happened. 

Huh.

A strangled sound made itself known, and he blinked a few times before his breath picked up, gasping and panting, and he mindlessly tottered out his door.

When Bilbo dazedly slammed into someone, he latched on, gaze wildly seeking out that of the one he had grabbed on to with panic-tight fists.

"Fíli," he said, eyes wide and breath quickening again.

"Bilbo? What's happened?" 

Fíli guided him into a seat in the, oh, the parlour, how lovely. Now if Fíli would just track down a nice steadying pipe for his poor self....

Instead of a request for pipeweed and tea, all that came out his mouth was another sort of garbled moan with a kind of hiccuping twist to it.

"Bilbo, take a deep breath," Fíli advised, crouching down in front of him and rubbing his hands between his own, brow creased in concern. "Tell me what's happened. Do you need Óin?"

He made another attempt to speak, but it came out another garbled mess with whimper, and Fíli looked truly worried now, and stood as if to go, so Bilbo fisted a hand into his tunic and yanked him back.

"Dwalin kissed me," Bilbo managed, all in a rush, almost gasping around the words, and hiccuping again. "And then, then, _Thorin_ kissed me as well!"

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure what reaction he was expecting, but triumphant delight was not it.

"Finally," Fíli said with no small amount of satisfaction, face twisting into a bright grin, and reached to grasp his shoulders, yanking him forward to gently bump their foreheads together. "That's wonderful, Bilbo!"

"Finally?" Bilbo repeated incredulously, and then hiccuped. Really. Hiccups? "What do you mean, finally? Why would they kiss me?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Fíli said, face puzzled, but no less satisfied. "Is that not expected at this stage of courtship for Hobbits?"

Bilbo stared. 

And stared some more.

At least that had startled the hiccups out of him.

He opened his mouth. And shut it again. His swallow seemed loud in the very quiet room.

"Cou-" he tried, and swallowed again. "Oh," he said, shutting his eyes for a moment. "I'm a bit dizzy," he admitted faintly, swaying a little.

Opening his eyes didn't help much, since Fíli was still there, still happy but puzzled. 

"Courtship?" Bilbo stuttered out. Remember, Bilbo old boy. Fill the lungs, hold briefly, and release. Just keep breathing.

"Yes, courtship," Fíli said slowly. "You, well, your kin, and somewhat convoluted -confused the hell out of us, until Glóin figured it out!- but translatable as you declaring you found them attractive and worthy, professing a longing for them and putting forward your availability for courtship. And then you accepted their gift. _Finally_. Any longer and I was going to have to strangle Uncle. He's been right unbearable for months!" 

"Courtship?" he asked again faintly, blinking quickly. 

"Yes, courtship, what did you think the three of you have been dancing about for the last few months?" Fíli said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Months?" Bilbo said blankly. 

He hiccuped again. Bugger it.

"Wait, wait, _wait_ , so this is how your people commence courtship? With the, the declaration of, well, you know, and the gift and such?" 

Fíli's expression slowly turned incredulous, and he gaped at Bilbo a long moment before finally shaking his head.

"No-"

"Well than why-"

"That's how _all_ races initiate Courtship. The accords of '43? The culmination of misunderstandings during the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, the displacement of the Dwarvish Compatriot movement and the abduction of the Easterling princess Mahfalli?"

Bilbo stared at him blankly, and Fíli threw his hands up again, waving them around his head while his mouth worked furiously to latch onto what was most probably a thousand expletives working for precedent.

"Bilbo," he finally managed. "I knew there might be a bit of a misunderstanding, but I thought that you just needed a little encouragement to act, not that you had _no snotting idea_ what was going on. This? Is not good."

"Not good?" Bilbo asked numbly. Fíli scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned deep in his chest.

"The point is for you to give them permission to court you. They have gone ahead and started so, and you have not actually given them permission! They're breaking a lot of laws at this very moment. Yes. This is very not good."

"Hobbits go walking," Bilbo said numbly.

"So the question is, what in the buggering blazes do we do now? Can we keep this quiet? The reputation of the Durin line is at stake here," Fíli muttered, running agitated hands through his hair. 

"Take tea..."

"We're on this quest to _restore_ the Longbeards to a prosperous standing." Fíli was pacing now, back and forth as he gnawed on already too-blunt fingernails.

"...dance together at gatherings."

"And now _our King and honoured Consort_ have proceeded a courtship without permission!" Fíli whined. 

"Get caught stealing kisses on the porch, even."

"Mam is going to kill them. Mam is going to kill us _all!_ If Umad doesn't get to us first," Fíli moaned, face in hands. "They are both going to kill us. And then they will petition Aulë to allow us to return to life just so they can kill us again!"

"Flowers. Flowers are traditional."

"Oh, they passed along the gift. You're half married and you didn't even know it!"

"Cousin Dudo just started courting..."

"Oh, they are going to be so crushed," Fíli looked near tears.

"... and he brought his sweetheart a honey and rosemary cake."

"They were so happy. They thought you wanted them." Fíli was, in fact, crying now, sniffling and clutching his beard-braids.

"Eventually, you weave a crown or a wreath, and someone goes round the parents’ house and asks to claim a hand."

"And now we have to call it all off!" Fíli wailed.

"What?" Bilbo asked, sitting up straight in the chair, gaze snapping sharply into focus.

"The _courting_ , Bilbo, now they have to call it off and issue a formal apology."

"Well, now, there's no need to be hasty," Bilbo said, and all of a sudden, it hit him, and he gasped, flopping in his chair. "Oh, Sweet Mothers, are you serious? They're _courting_ me?"

"Yes, Bilbo, they are," Fíli said testily, sniffing slightly. "Oh, poor Thorin, and Dwalin, oh he's a soft touch, you know; I don't know if he'll ever recover."

"Fíli," Bilbo said urgently, standing and grasping Fíli by the shoulders, halting his agitated pacing. "Look me in the eyes right now. If you are pranking me, I will take my pin of an elvish dagger and shove it in your belly to the hilt, do you understand? Tell me, are they truly honestly courting me?"

"Uh..." Fíli said, eyebrows climbing at Bilbo's calm delivery of a very... seemingly sincere death threat. "This is no jest, Bilbo. I swear, you are being courted by my Uncles. On my word as a Prince of my line."

"Why then," Bilbo asked desperately, shaking Fíli in his grasp. " _Why_ did nobody say anything?"

"We thought you _knew_ ," Fíli insisted. "Why wouldn't they court you? You're the other link of their chain, the sannâb to their ukhdâr . I- Bilbo, I _know_ you are not unaffected by them. Kíli and I have been watching you since your home, we _know_ what they mean to you. Why would they not feel the same?"

Bilbo stared at him a moment more, before he sighed long and loud, sigh tapering off into a moan as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against Fíli's chest.

"Every time I feel like I am finally understanding what is going on around me, somebody says something that leaves me bewildered. Alright," he said, lifting his head. "We are going to revisit this conversation. I am guessing this has something about what you wanted to talk of the other day? Your 'Ones'?"

"Yes," Fíli said with a great rush of breath, loaded with frustration and relief.

"Alright, so we'll- wait, you know what? That is another thing I do not understand. Why do you call them 'Ones' if it does not, it seems, refer to _one person?_ "

"Oh, that, yes well, if you'd let me explain the other night, it's more, our words for it don't really translate easily in Westron," Fíli said, and looked to be about to launch into an explanation, but Bilbo shook his head, even as he shook Fíli with the grip he still had on the lad's shoulders.

"No, no we are revisiting the conversation later. For now, we have to get something clear." He yanked Fíli in close and met his eyes fiercely. "As far as anybody in this Smial is concerned, I instructed my cousin to alert Thorin and Dwalin of my interest, they presented their gift this morning, and I consented to a courtship with full knowledge of what I was doing. Clear?"

"But you _didn't_ know-"

" _Fíli_ ," Bilbo hissed. "I thought that you wanted this?"

"I _do_ \- Oh."

"Yes. _Oh_."

"Right, I'm with you," Fíli said, nodding somewhat dazedly, and Bilbo squeezed his shoulders and let go, slumping back into the chair and patting at the pockets of his borrowed weskit. 

No pipe. Bugger it.

"Courting," he muttered to himself. 

"Yes," Fíli said, flopping into the chair across from him and digging into his tunic to produce an obviously Hobbit pipe and a freshly stuffed pouch and passed them across.

Bilbo huffed and stuffed the pipe as full as it could hold, taking the thin matchstick of wood Fíli lit from the candle to light. He was quiet through the first few minutes of puffing, waiting until he felt sufficiently calm to consider sharing, and passing the pipe across.

"They're really courting me?" he asked, voice small.

Fíli nodded, excited gleam returning to his young eyes, and grinned around an exhale as he passed the pipe back. 

"Yes. They cherish you."

"Oh goodness me," Bilbo said breathless, and wide eyed, and abruptly hiccuped again. Another great puff and he shoved the pipe back at Fíli. "I have to find my uncle."

***

"So... this is a gift to initiate a courtship?" Hildifons clarified, after Bilbo's somewhat rushed and rambling explanation, turning Bilbo's hand over to examine the bracelet curiously.

"Yes!" Bilbo said, bouncing in place. "They're courting me. Me! Dwalin! And Thorin! _Me!_ "

Hildifons raised one speculative eyebrow, but it melted into a grin at Bilbo's growing excitement, and he chuckled at the picture his nephew made, barely able to contain himself.

"I am pleased for you, nephew. A bit of a surprise...'

"They thought I knew!" Bilbo said, breathless and wide eyed. "They were waiting for me to say something, and when Hal..." He waved his hand in the air, a wordless gesture as his vocabulary stalled in the face of the fact that _Thorin and Dwalin were courting him_.

"When your cousin put his foot in it?"

"Yes, and bugger it, that means I cannot be cross with him any more," Bilbo mourned, spoiling it with a wide grin and a strangled noise of barely contained happiness.

"Your mother always did say that you would do great things," Hildifons said with a sigh, tugging Bilbo to sit with him on the comfortable chaise in his room. "She was always saying that one day, you would do something to shock even the most adventurous of Tooks. I know I'm bamboozled."

"You aren't..." Bilbo hesitated a moment, smile slowly drooping, shifting in place. "You aren't disappointed?"

Hildifons huffed and gave a short, sharp shake of his head. 

"You Bagginses are not just known for your respectability, youngen. All Hobbits know that Baggins do not marry for land, money, or recipe acquisition, not for alliances or arrangements or mutual benefit, or even for respectability. Bagginses always marry for love. Always. And I know your Da would have told you that many times over."

"He did," Bilbo said with a great heaving sigh. "But I am not all Baggins."

"And you're not all Took," Hildifons said with no small amount of exasperation. "You're _Bilbo_ , and there ain't a thing wrong with that. I told your ma years ago, when she wrote me fretting about you, I told her she should tackle this insecurity of yours. Bagginses make it an issue to point out the Took in you and encourage you to be a Baggins, and the Tooks give you guff for the Baggins to taunt you to be more of Took. It's never been to point out _failing_ in you, my silly nephew, it's been to put a great stonking claim on you!"

There... wasn't anything Bilbo could find to say to that, so he sat with his mouth open like a numpty and stared a little. 

"You didn't honestly think that your cousins taunt the stuffing out of you about your Bagginsness because you're _lacking_ in their eyes, did you? It's placing a great possessive stake on you, claiming you as theirs- _ours_. And the Baggins all inevitably respond with that passive-aggressive, civilised version of jealousy thing they do so well. Seriously, nephew? You never caught on to the never ending bid for your affections?"

Bilbo's mouth closed and then flapped right open again and a funny little whining sound came from his nose, of all places. 

"Those poor Dwarrows of yours. How long did you say you've been travelling together?"

"That..." Bilbo tried, and swallowed against the hoarseness of his re-found voice. "That's not funny."

"No, it isn't. My point is, you have to stop trying to fit in as a respectable Baggins, or a wild-headed Took, because it is very obvious now that you were never meant to be either. Don't look at me that way," Hildifons said with a humph, rocking back in his chair. "If you try and tell me that you didn't look at those two Dwarrow-folk and immediately feel a heart call, I shall call you a liar."

There was no denying the deep blush that worked its way up his cheeks, and Bilbo cut his gaze away and down, unable to even think about voicing that fib. 

"I-" 

"You did. You felt it."

"I didn't know _what_ I felt," Bilbo said crossly. "I'd never felt it before. How was I to know what I was feeling?"

"And yet, you came with them," Hildifons pointed out, expression pointed.

Bilbo's mouth firmed into a hard line, expression flitting between a dozen different expressions before he slumped.

"The thought, of never seeing them again... I couldn't bear it. I ran after them, well, just for another glimpse, really. Even signing their contract, I don't know if I ever really intended to join the Company, never really expected to stay with them, or for the Company to even want me to join them, I just wanted to see those two lumps a little more. But then... I found I could not stand to leave them. Even if they sent me away. Except when it seemed like they _would_ send me away, the thought hurt so very badly that I made to flee," he admitted with a wry twist of his lips. 

"And this is a difficult thing to admit?"

"You are being entirely too reasonable about this whole conversation," Bilbo said crossly.

"I'm afraid I spent my allocation of Took impetuousness years ago when I came here," Hildifons said blithely. "Now, why is it difficult to admit?"

"Because they think I am _brave_ ," Bilbo blurted loudly. "The timid little Hobbit ran out of his door to help them claim their home, joining the cause with no warriors skills, but a willing heart, how brave! When really, I've been chasing a, a _fix_ , more of the short burst of warmth in my soul when they would look at me. There is no bravery here, only a hunger for just another little taste of their presence."

Hildifons snorted, long and loud.

"It's true!" Bilbo insisted. "There's nothing brave about anything I have done so far. It's all selfish."

"Bravery is always nine parts heart, one part selfishness," Hildifons said.

"That is complete tosh that you just made up," Bilbo glowered. 

Hildifons shrugged and waved a hand.

"True though. Of all you and the others of your group have told me, I have no reason not to accept their claims of your bravery."

Bilbo made a disgusted noise, and Hildifons hushed him.

"You're ridiculous and possess all the stubbornness Baggins _and_ Tooks are known for. I'm not going to bother convincing you otherwise. Play the martyr if you wish."

Bilbo huffed at him, but Hildifons ignored him and caught his hand to examine the bracelet on his wrist a bit more, humming in approval. Bilbo let his wrist be turned this way and that, silent for the moment, unwilling to continue the conversation as much as Hildifons was.

"So, does that mean you need a gift for them also?" Hildifons asked after a moment, dropping his wrist and looking back up at him.

Bilbo stared at his uncle for a moment.

"Bugger," he said. "I have to find Fíli."

***

Fíli was still where he left him in the parlour, half asleep in his chair and humming drowsily, self-satisfied smile in place -smug little bugger- but Bilbo was more concerned with half climbing into the Dwarrow's lap and clutching at the front of his tunic than concerning himself with how self-congratulatory Fíli was being.

"Fíli," he whispered. "Do I need a gift for them as well?"

The flailing would be hilarious if he wasn't busy panicking.

"We," Fíli said heavily, righting himself and steadying Bilbo so they both did not topple to the floor, "are going to have to cover _everything_. That isn't going to be easy, if we are to keep your ignorance a secret."

Bilbo made a strangled noise and shook Fíli by his tunic, not quite trusting himself with words.

"It really depends on how you want your courtship to go," Fíli started, but Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him and shook him again, growling, and Fíli sighed.

"It would be the quickest option to get you three idiots bonded before you manage to bugger it all up, but for propriety's sake, wait a few months before offering, yeah?"

"Propriety?" Bilbo asked with a frown.

"Normally these things take a bit," Fíli said, "but you waited _ages_ after recognition to give them permission to court, so a short time between acceptance and gift will look romantic rather than hasty, but you should still wait a bit."

"What should I give?" Bilbo fretted, eyes wide and hands tightening in the captured tunic.

"I... " Fíli trailed off and frowned. "I don't really know," he admitted. "Dwarrows give jewellery of significance, but you being a Hobbit...."

"What does 'of significance' mean?" Bilbo asked, leaning back, eyes darting suddenly down to his beautiful bracelet.

Fíli moaned. 

" _Everything_ , we are going to go back and thoroughly educate you on _everything_. It's going to be a complete and utter drag of a task," he sighed, woebegone, and shook his head, though a smile broke through when Bilbo thumped him firmly in the chest with a clenched fist, still a little beyond words. "Significant means exactly that. The cuff you wear is a strip cut off both Thorin and Dwalin's warrior cuffs, reshaped and joined, with the Sapphires taken from their Durin's beads. They did the best they could, being that they had very little time before we left your Shire, and the Hobbiton Smithy was _not_ pleased to find Uncle in his forge that morning, let me tell you."

Bilbo found himself quite without words for the umpteenth time that morning, gaping like a fish before he slid off Fíli's lap and meekly retook the seat he had earlier.

He scrubbed a hand through his curls, tired eyes fixed on a painting on the opposite wall. Honestly. The things he was discovering. Did he know these Dwarrows at all?

"They've had this gift, for me, all this time? They crafted a gift _for me_ in Hobbiton?"

Fíli shot him a wounded look.

"Of course! They're honourable Dwarrows. They recognised you as their own when we all met, and they did the best they could to be ready for when you came to them."

"Why didn't they _say_ something?" Bilbo asked, flustered beyond the quick. 

"You really do have no idea about anything, do you?" Fíli said, arms waving and eyes flashing in a sudden burst of temper. "They _couldn't_ , it had to be you!"

Bilbo glared right back, and opened his mouth to demand an explanation, when Dori popped his head around the doorway.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, hurrying in to wave Fíli up and out. "Balin has been looking all over for you. Off you go!"

"But-!" Fíli objected as he was shoved out the door and down the hall by an insistent Dori, and Bilbo frowned after him, fingers absently running over his cuff.

"Oh, and congratulations, Bilbo," Dori said kindly, head popping back around the doorway for a moment. "I'm so pleased you found them worthy!"

His head disappeared around the door again, and left Bilbo sitting quite bewildered in the parlour.

"I have to find Hildifons," he muttered.

***

"I need jewellery of significance," Bilbo said, trotting back into Hildifons’ room and slumping back on the chaise.

"Significance?" Hildifons asked, looking up from his book with a perplexed frown.

"Personal significance, I gather, though I suppose if it had cultural or historical value, it would count," Bilbo mused, toeing at the soft worn rug underfoot. 

Hildifons sat frowning for a minute or two, before he shrugged.

"Your mother had a few brooches..." he said dubiously.

Bilbo face twisted into one of disgruntled unhappiness.

"None here with me, and nothing I would gift to Thorin or Dwalin, no matter how pretty that one Da made -did you ever see the bluebells he painted on the carved cedar?- Not very Dwarfish by any stretch."

"A conundrum, to be sure," Hildifons said, and Bilbo shrugged.

"Apparently I should wait a few months to gift them something, so I have time," he admitted, and his uncle nodded and picked up his book again.

They sat silent while the elder Hobbit read through his book, and Bilbo contemplated the impossibility of finding jewellery of some sort of significance good enough for _Dwarrows_ , masters of the craft, damnable creatures.

Hildifons hummed all of a sudden, gaze moving from his book and staring for a while, before eyeing him carefully.

"And your mother's... ómra? That was buried with her?" he asked tentatively, startling Bilbo from his contemplation.

"Of _course_ it was," Bilbo cried, eyes wide with indignation. "What sort of son do you think I am?"

Hildifons waved a hand dismissively, eyes on something across the room.

"Occasionally," he said carefully. "Occasionally, the woods here wake long enough to offer thanks for our care. Occasionally. Still."

Bilbo stared at him blankly for a moment before following Hildifons gaze to the little box in pride of place on Hildifons bedside. His head whipped back around, eyes wide, but Hildifons merely nodded towards the box and stayed silent, hands clasped on top of his forgotten book.

He was the few steps to the bedsit in a matter of seconds, carefully wiping his hands on his trousers before he contemplated lifting the beautifully carved lid, and when he did, he gasped and immediately clasped his hands behind his back. Seeing another's oh-so rare ómra was a great gift; touching would be very dishonourable.

"It's _beautiful_ ," he said on a reverent breath, eyes busy taking in ever detail of the almost fist-sized hunk of amber, a shade near dark enough to appear almost green against the cream coloured linen it nestled in, carefully polished smooth and clear to expose the beauty of a dragonfly caught in flight suspended in its heart. 

"The land around here is still good," Hildifons said quietly. "And we work hard to keep its health well. The trees mostly sleep, but perhaps if you were to join us tonight.... The moon is high, the peak of the season approaches, and it will be a good night for a céilí. An entreaty may be heard."

Bilbo did not know what to say. He really didn't. The amber caught the light of the nearby lantern and it _gleamed_ , perfect and pure.

"Not _quite_ a gemstone as Dwarrows know them, but precious," Hildifons offered, coming to stand beside him, and Bilbo took a deep breath and gently closed the box, looking to his uncle.

"Do you really think...?" He trailed off, considering, hoping.

"No reason you couldn't try," Hildifons said sensibly, and Bilbo nodded, a little dazed. 

"Well, luncheon will be up, soon," Hildifons said, "and if you are to join us tonight, you'd best have a kip after, 'til dinner. Go tell your fellas where you'll be, so they don't tear the forest down around our ears when you disappear later."

"They wouldn't," Bilbo protested weakly as he let Hildifons usher him out. 

Hildifons laughed and Bilbo blushed, dazedly wandering off down the hall.

Well.

This was not what he had expected from his morning.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be able to promise that the next part will be up soon, but I a currently very much involved in writing the scenes that come after they reach Erebor. I shall go back and fill in the gaps soon, but I've got to follow the inspiration, peeps, or I would never get anything done, lols.
> 
> Anybody on tumblr who wants to chat, come find me! They're all crazy but extremely fun over there. Just _don't mention the potato wars._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand, finally, we has new chapter. I'm working on this and Epic and Hobbit Story Big Bang at the moment, and I actually have little time to write at the moment, but I am trying, peeps! I have a lot of fun with this writing stuff, so updates will always pop up eventually.
> 
> DON'T FORGET to wave pompoms in Beta-Beth's general direction, or at least contemplate her awesomeness for a few minutes, peeps. Without her, there would be no fic. Swears. I adore that woman.
> 
> UPDATE: I AM AWARE THAT I HAVE BEEN PLAGIARISED ON FF.NET BY USER IAmVeryUnamoosed. COMPLAINTS HAVE BEEN ISSUED, BUT THE ACCOUNT HOLDER IS IGNORING ME AND DELETING MY MESSAGES. VERY ANNOYED.

It had only been a few hours since the Dwarrows had eaten breakfast, but once Bilbo had left Hildifons, he became quite convinced that he really should go and tell Dwalin and Thorin that luncheon would be ready soon. Thorin would heal better with some good meals in his belly, after all. That was the only reason, truly, for making his way to where the Company were and finding the particular door to knock on to let them know about luncheon. 

He absolutely did not anticipate all thoughts of the midday meal flying from his mind at the sight of Dwalin opening the door, and he was quite the helpless bystander in his own body when his hands wrapped themselves in Dwalin's beard -he'd always wanted to touch the great bushy mess of beard and the strands were thicker than he thought they would be, harder, but ran silky smooth through his fingers- and yanked him down into a kiss. 

From there he was a little preoccupied with the firm press of lips, the rasping sound of Dwalin's breath and the press of strong arms around his body, and the perfect slide of tongue somewhat bigger than his own, careful and probing. Far too busy with that, to be noticing himself being drawn into the room and over to the bed, lifted onto the bed. Until he _was_ aware, when Dwalin ended up stretched out above him, and Bilbo huffed and wriggled and braced himself, and with the hard push of one foot, flipped them over and straddled Dwalin, and grinned down at him fiercely.

He would have let himself swoop down to kiss that pleased look off Dwalin's face, but that was when he noticed that the bed that he was on was also the bed where Thorin had been sleeping- 'had' being the important word there, as it seemed Bilbo and Dwalin had tumbled into Thorin's side when Bilbo had flipped them, and was now blinking confusedly at them from his pillow.

"Oh," Bilbo said, biting his lip in worry. Had they hurt him? He'd gotten completely carried away. "Oh, Thorin, I'm so sorry we - _I_ woke you."

Thorin blinked at him, and then at Dwalin, who was so far silent, and quite pleased with himself, by the look of it. Thorin looked back at Bilbo again.

"I do not mind this kind of wake up at all," he murmured, face breaking into a contented smile, and he carefully rolled, propping himself up on one arm and observing them keenly. "Do you know?" he said idly to Bilbo, though his eyes fell back to Dwalin, "that sometimes, when Dwalin is held down and kissed well, he goes all soft and pliable? I've always wanted to see that from the outside."

Bilbo frowned and considered that a moment, until the exact nature of Thorin's request hit him, and he turned his attention back to Dwalin, who was looking breathless and eager, and so Bilbo sank his one hand into that lovely beard again, and the other cupping Dwalin's head, and pulled him firmly up to meet his lips. 

To be perfectly honest, to Bilbo, the entirety of the last several days felt like one long, bizarre dream, and it was difficult to grasp that what was happening right at this moment, was real. That he was able to be here, at this moment, and apparently have permission to freely kiss these Dwarrows. And there was a big part of him that thought, that even if this was a dream, he was going to take advantage of every single second.

So he endeavoured to really put his back into this kiss. Finding the precise angle to tilt his head and the exact amount of tongue movement required to make Dwalin shiver. And then he took every single moment from the last several months, from the moment he had opened his door to a great sombre warrior with intense eyes, until the moment the door of this room had swung open, every moment of warmth when they had looked at him, every small smile he had seen between them, every single evening of uncomfortable tightness of his trousers due to these lummoxes, every night of shoving his face into his bedroll to quell frustrated tears and furious words, every rock he had considered throwing at their stupid lump heads, every moment he had wanted to just hold them and never let go.... every single moment he bundled up and shoved into that kiss, pushing deeper, harder, greedier, his teeth clacking faintly with Dwalin's when he pushed forward with everything he had to give.

Not that the Dwarf seemed even slightly bothered, soft sighs of appreciation becoming moans, becoming noises of pure wonder, and Bilbo felt the change, felt the moment when Dwalin went positively _limp_ under him, languid and boneless and pliant in a way that had Bilbo hot and hard and wildly triumphant and protectively tender all at once. He gasped into Dwalin, and let them part, lips sliding off each other with a glide that had Bilbo a little weak everywhere from the feel, and let his eyes flutter open, not really remembering them shut, really.

Dwalin looked wrecked in just the most amazing of ways, and Thorin let out a loud heartfelt groan beside them.

" _Beautiful_ ," he swore, moving forward, but eyes darting back and forth between them, as if uncertain which to attack first, but then Dwalin made a needy sound and Thorin groaned in response, and swooped in, Dwalin tilting his head weakly in Bilbo's grasp to let Thorin plunder deep, and Bilbo would have been embarrassed at the very loud appreciative noise he made at the sight, but, well. Hot Dwarves kissing.

Dwalin was so generously wanting like this, arching into what Thorin gave him so easily, hands languidly kneading Bilbo's thighs, almost wallowing in the feel of the affection being given.

"That-" Bilbo swallowed loudly, and abruptly realised he still had one hand fisted in Dwalin's beard, so he smoothed it down Dwalin's arched neck instead, and shuddered all over. Sweet ancestors in the gardens of the afters, this had to be the most erotic thing he had ever seen. 

"This is not what I came here for," Bilbo said absently, hesitant fingers twining into a hank of Thorin's hair. It was... softer than he had anticipated. Softer than Dwalin's beard, the strands not so thick. Oh, he wanted to touch all their hair, all the time. The thought felt slightly scandalous, and from the look Thorin gave him and the hand in his hair as he parted from Dwalin's lips, it perhaps was.

"It isn't?" Thorin asked, looking slightly disappointed, and Dwalin made a rough wanting noise, rising a little under Bilbo until he petted the chest under him and smoothed a hand down one arm.

"Is he always like this?" Bilbo asked, fascinated, taking in the drowsy soft look of the normally gruff and solemn warrior, the way he arched into caresses like a great cat begging to be petted. It was the most amazing sight, Bilbo was sure, apart from freshly-kissed Thorin, also heavy-lidded and satisfied.

"Always," Thorin confirmed, tugging Bilbo in by his shirt collar so he could nip at Bilbo's lips with his own. "He's never been shy about pleasure, giving or receiving. Wait until he gets you laid out underneath him. Oh, we'll make a feast out of you."

Bilbo's gulp was lost in Thorin's mouth, and he felt Dwalin unbutton his weskit and the bottom of his shirt buttons, sliding those big warm palms in and around his waist, gently curving around his curves, and cupping his rounded Hobbity belly appreciatively. 

He was just letting them begin to coax him down onto the bed in between them, head spinning with Thorin's beguiling kisses and Dwalin's gentle touches, when a soft -Dwarrow soft, anyway- knock came on the door.

"Dwalin, the Hobbits have put out a meal and Óin wants Thori-" Glóin stopped dead at the sight of them, eyebrows rising dangerously high when he saw Bilbo's dishevelled state.

He sighed loudly.

"Are ye really going to be making me do this?" he said, resignation in every line of his body as he slumped against the door frame and crossed his arms.

"Not making you do anything, cousin. Bugger off," Thorin said, glaring over his shoulder.

"Cannot do that, Thorin."

"We're behaving," Dwalin said roughly, trying to discreetly pull his hands from under Bilbo's shirt. (Glóin missed nothing.) "Look, clothes on and everything."

Glóin humphed loudly and stomped across the room to lift Bilbo off Dwalin and set him carefully on his feet, and take up a stance in front of him, waving a recriminating finger at his cousins.

"He hasn't been offered clan protection, yet, and until then, this is not appropriate! You want to get up to shenanigans, then don't be stupid enough to get _caught_."

"You're the one stomping into our room- a private room with the door shut!" Thorin said, hauling himself up to sit with the tiniest of winces.

"Not locked," Glóin said.

"This is payback for that one time we caught you and Krara with the breadstick and the-"

" _Cousin_ ," Glóin protested. "You said you would never ever bring that up, ever."

"A juicy bit of blackmail material like that?" Thorin said with a smirk, and Glóin growled and pouted, and made a gesture that made Dwalin chortle into his beard.

"I've got to ask, though, you know I have," Glóin said regretfully, and Thorin's face turned thunderous for a moment. "He's family, now, and even if he weren't-"

"We know," Dwalin said, poking Thorin until he relaxed and nodded.

"Go on then, question our honour," Thorin said snidely, and Glóin huffed and turned to Bilbo.

"Well lad?" he asked, petting him on the arm.

"Well what?" Bilbo asked blankly, wondering where the exasperation at their blasted incomprehensible talking was this time. Perhaps he was growing immune?

Glóin huffed again, rolling his eyes. 

"Come on lad, don't be coy. Did they coerce you into anything that you were not comfortable with?"

"Of course not," Bilbo said crossly. "I initiated the kissing, after all."

"Yes, kissing, that's fine, but did they try for _more?_ They're not supposed to be pushing for anything you don't explicitly ask for."

Bilbo stared.

On the bed, Dwalin and Thorin were looking.... well, a little apprehensive, to be honest, and Glóin was terribly uncomfortable, to say the least. He looked between the three, and cleared his throat hesitantly.

"No?" he offered tentatively, letting some of the building tension loosen from his shoulders when all three of his Dwarrows relaxed in response, though Glóin humphed suspiciously.

"The Hobbits have put out a luncheon," Glóin told Dwalin. "My brother wants Thorin to eat, and then have his wounds seen to. You can help him to the table."

"I don't need help," Thorin said crossly, but he let Dwalin help him from the bed and straighten his clothing. 

"Bilbo?" Dwalin asked, holding out a hand, but Glóin stepped in front of him, and waved at the door.

"He'll be along in a moment. Off you go."

"But-" Thorin made to protest, but Glóin growled and pointed to the door, and the two trailed out huffily, though not without a few longing glances in Bilbo's direction, which left the Hobbit all but glowing under the weight of unashamed affection.

"Those two," Glóin said with no small amount of exasperation, taking Bilbo's arm and leading him to perch upon the end of the bed. "Ridiculous."

"Now," he said, taking Bilbo's hand in his own giant paws and petting it gently. "I thought it best to tell you of some decisions made last night. Had we known you require family so early in the courting process, we would have done this before leaving your Shire, or at least stayed a few days to sort it all out. But, what is done is done."

"What decisions?" Bilbo asked.

"Well, although you have Hobbit family here right now, we shan't be staying here long, and besides, as kin to the Company now, your courtship notwithstanding, you have the right to be represented properly amongst our kind. Your courtship progressing so suddenly means making such decisions now."

"Represented," Bilbo said slowly, mind whirling. When were these fools going to stop surprising him? "I'm not entirely sure what that means."

Glóin opened his mouth and then shut it again with a frown. A moment of thought, and he was eying Bilbo speculatively.

"We'll be needing to give you lessons soon," Glóin said mostly to himself. "I shall give you the shortest version I can, now. The only species in all the lands to ever care for the Khazâd, are the Khazâd. Dwarrow," he said when Bilbo looked confused. "Dwarves look after their own. Family is important; clan is important. Dissent in the clan is weakness and vulnerability for outsiders to prey upon. Clan is family and loyalty, and can not be shaken. In order for a clan to stay tight-knit, every Dwarf is entitled to representation at all levels."

"I'm not a Dwarf," Bilbo pointed out.

"You are now," Glóin said cheerfully. "And so we have decided to treat you as an orphaned Dwarrow, and elect your representatives accordingly. If you are unhappy with any choices, we may change them around a little."

" _I'm_ a Dwarf?" he spluttered, and although it was _entirely_ incredulous and more question than anything, Glóin beamed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit laddy! Now, what do you know of Dwarven government?"

".... You have a King?" Bilbo managed, after a long moment of racking his brain for thought. "I'm afraid that the governing systems of Big Folk have never been of particular interest to Hobbits. It always seems far more complicated than it ought to be. We'd prefer to just get on with things, than wait for someone else to _tell_ us to do the planting."

"Well, Hobbits are peaceful little folk, so you mightn't need much governing to begin with," Glóin nodded, but tilted his head back a moment and stroked his beard. "Dwarrows... this may grow complicated. Very much of our ways are tied into our origins and our purpose, the reason our Maker made us. And much I cannot tell you until you are married into the clan, or the King has formally acknowledged your Kin representatives in front of a council majority. Now, in the beginning, our maker, great Mahal, carved seven fathers from the stone, and great Eru Ilúvatar gave them souls, and thus, the Khazâd were born. They became the fathers of the seven races of Dwarves. The oldest, the first Dwarrow made, was Durin, and he is the father of _our_ clan, the Longbeards, or Sigintarâg. You shall be marrying into Durin's line, my lad. 

"Now, Durin, like the other Dwarven fathers, was gifted with many fine sons-"

"How?" Bilbo asked, frown scrunching his face.

"How what?" 

"How did he have sons? If the only Dwarves then were seven 'Fathers', then how did they all make sons? Are Dwarrows capable of reproducing asexually, like fairies?" 

Glóin stared at him for a long time, long enough for Bilbo to flush darkly and fidget under the weight of that stare. Finally, Glóin sighed loudly. 

"I am nominating Balin as your Ugshar," he sighed after a moment. "Let _him_ deal with questions like that. Mahal, with the assistance of his own wife and that of the All-Father, did make wives for the first of our kind. After your marriage, Rísta will likely take on the task of teaching you the Old Tales of our creation; she taught my Gimli, and Fíli and Kíli as well, of course, and Yrís." 

"Rísta is Thorin's sister," Bilbo said, looking to Glóin for confirmation. "And Yrís his grandchild."

"Correct," Glóin said. "And Rísta is a Dwarrow of the temples, and the best to tell you of the creation of the Khazâd. Now, Durin was blessed with a total of five children, all sons, and although only one would take his place as King, Durin set them all the responsibility of caring for the people."

"Where did the people come from?" Bilbo said before he could stop himself, shrinking a little under Glóin's mild glare.

"What?"

"The people. So Mahal made seven Dwarrows, then made them wives, and then made the people?" 

Glóin buried his face in his hands and moaned a little, and Bilbo patted him carefully on the back. Hopefully he hadn't broken one of his new brothers.

"Do you know, in three Ages of traipsing this earth, in all the eons of interactions with other species, no Man or idiot know-it-all Elf has ever questioned the basics of our creation theory? Us Dwarrows have been laughing at that for countless generations, and then one little Hobbit...." He finished with a sigh and hooked Bilbo into his side, rubbing his back when Bilbo looked panicked. "Don't fret, little brother, you're just a surprise."

"I'm sorry for prying, I just-"

"No, it is good you have the curiosity to want to know of your new people. That is a good thing. Yours is a question, however, that has to wait until you're officially one of us."

"Alright."

"Can you simply accept that there was a Dwarven clan and Durin had sons to lead them?" Glóin asked, tone weary, but he was grinning at Bilbo in amusement, so Bilbo just huffed and nodded.

"Well, the sons had the responsibilities of rulership split amongst them equally, and they became the first 'uzbâd, the Great Lords of the People, the kanâg. Each Dwarrow of the Longbeards could choose a Dwarf to represent their interests, their rights within the court. Do you understand?"

"Not a bit," Bilbo admitted immediately. Glóin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Alright, let me put it this way. By Thorin's grace, I hold my father's Lordship, since Óin has never had any interest in doing so- the codger holds too many hats anyway. Now, my cousin Balin holds a Lordship within the court also. Are you following so far?"

"Yes," Bilbo nodded. It was fairly obvious that Thorin valued the opinions of Balin and Glóin very much, so it did make a fair amount of sense.

"Were you aware that Bombur is my brother-by-marriage?"

"You and Bombur married sisters from the same family," Bilbo said, smiling happily. He remembered that!

"Alright, so Bombur's family are technically Broadbeams, a separate clan, but one that joined with our own decades ago. Bifur's wife fell under the bannership of Balin's Lordship, but she is deceased, and Bombur is my brother now, so he has moved his family under my Lordship. Dori, now, is courting with Balin, even if he is making the bugger work for it," Glóin paused for a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Dori's family is under Balin's 'Lordship', I take it," Bilbo guessed.

"Indeed. Now, say... let's say, Bifur and Ori had a falling out, a serious issue arose between them that they could not resolve. They would go the heads of their respective families, Bifur's father Rofur, and Ori to his Aunt Gin. If no resolution could be found between _them_ , then the dispute would be brought to Balin and myself. Between us, we would find a solution. In the very rare circumstances that resolution can not be found between _us_ , then we would take it to Thorin, or Dwalin, depending on the issue, and they would make a final ruling."

"So it keeps the King from having to deal with every little argument that comes along."

"Exactly. Also, families can take worries and hardships to their Lord - issues of short food supplies, in-fighting within the guilds, worries over taxing, that sort of thing- who can bring issues before the King, and therefore, the cares of the people are seen to by the court."

"And how exactly does this apply to me?" Bilbo wondered, though he was thankful for the insight. Really, it was not so different to the Shire way, though with the heads of the different families as the Lords, and the Thain as their sort-of king. When they could be bothered with any of that.

"All orphaned and refugee Dwarrow are first found a Lord, before they are found a family. We have put you under my Lordship for now, if that is agreeable?"

Bilbo... was not entirely sure what to say to that. They were serious about taking him as family. And Dwalin and Thorin, the courting. The Company was already appropriating him into their society.

"Oh," was all he could manage.

"The only Lords present of course, are myself and Balin -Fíli and Kíli aren't quite old enough yet- and the decision we came to was that with the courting, and Balin being Dwalin's brother, that we would avoid any minor conflict of interest and keep you within my Lordship -though I am Dwalin's cousin also, and Thorin's. You may transfer yourself to another Lordship at a later date, if you prefer, though once you are married to our Clan King and King Consort, you yourself will outrank us all."

"Outrank...?" Bilbo asked incredulously, and Glóin began to laugh, deep and free, and Bilbo scowled at him for a minute before he could no longer resist the belly deep sound, and started to chuckle himself.

"You would marry our Kings! Where amongst the rank did you think that you would sit?" Glóin asked through his laughter, and Bilbo made another face at him. 

"I suppose I hadn't thought that far ahead," Bilbo admitted, and then stuck his head between his knees when his breathe whistled high and unsteady. "Oh my," he gasped. "I guess I've been thinking about them as just _them_ , you know? Sort of forgot about the King thing."

Glóin hummed and patted his back until he sat up and took a deep breath.

"Alright, I knew this. I can handle it. What else is there?"

"Well, as well as the protection of a Lord, you need an official family representative. Bombur and Bofur and Bifur are all under my Lordship, and while you have called us all kin, and we have reciprocated, at least one official brother -or sister, but we have none here for you yet- needs to be chosen, someone to stand with you for ritual and legal affairs. Bombur is higher ranking in the court, and his engineering position makes him the best professional choice, but Bofur has his heart set on it- he'd not be a bad choice in any case, being that he is a talented miner with good stone sense, and well liked amongst many. Bifur is older, and his marriage connected him to the King, and at one time, he was a revered warrior and had excellent stone sense as a miner, though the axehead has changed things somewhat, but well respected for his tenacity. Still, all three are good choices. Óin was arguing for himself, but since we are Dwalin's cousins, I think it best if you choose an Ur."

"Can I choose them all? I mean, I would like to choose all of you, _all_ the Company. But the Urs, perhaps all three...?" Bilbo asked,and Glóin beamed.

"You most certainly can. It leaves the decision on who must stand with you on formal occasions in their squabbling hands! I shall relay that after we leave here. They will all be thrilled."

"So is that it?"

"Not quite," Glóin said, serious again all of a sudden. "As your Lord, you fall under my protection, so it is my responsibility to ask you of recent events. I must ask, have you entered this courtship because you have felt that it was expected of you? Have you felt pressured to allow the attentions of your suitors? It is not too late for a spoken contract to be voided."

"No!" Bilbo all but shouted, half rising in alarm. "No, there has been no pressure, no. Absolutely not. I want this."

Glóin watched him with eyebrows raised high for a long time, but finally, something in his expression should have shown, because Glóin grinned again, and nodded, and that was that.

"After we leave here, then, feel free to discuss anything you need to with any of the Urs, and always feel free to approach me yourself if you need. The Urs might be your ceremonial brothers, but we are all your kin, now, and we all want to see you happy and content amongst the clan. Don't forget that."

"I won't," Bilbo assured him, warmed through at the regard these silly fellows were extending to him. He opened his mouth to ask about the 'ceremonial' part of having brothers, but the door flew open again, and Kíli all but ran through, Fíli hot on his heels.

"Bilbo, we brought you some lunch!" Kíli said breathlessly, plonking onto the bed behind him, while Fíli sprawled straight down on to the floor at his feet, grinning in a slightly maniacal way.

"Oh?" Bilbo asked quizzically, eying them both, and their very empty hands.

"They mean _we've_ brought you lunch, and they insisted on coming," Folstoph said, ambling in with a laden plate, Farabert with a second plate for Glóin, and Fortham with two tankards of something that smelt suspiciously like a rather strong fruity mead.

"Any reason we aren't to eat in the Dining area?" Bilbo asked with a fair amount of confusion. Hobbits did not eat while perched on beds. Most unseemly.

"You really do not want to be out there right now," Fortham said.

"Our Uncle and your Uncle are having a show-down," Kíli snickered.

" _What?_ "

His lunch was saved only by Fíli's quick reflexes, and Bilbo would have been very grateful for the lack of mess and not-wasted food, but he was too busy making for the door.

"Woah, hold up," Fortham insisted, grabbing his arm and steering him insistently back to the bed. He was shoved down next to an unconcerned Glóin next second, and Folstoph moved his lunch from Fíli's grip to Bilbo's and rescued Bilbo's tankard from Kíli's not-so-subtle sampling.

"Relax Bilbo," Kíli said, filching Glóin's tankard instead, after an ever-so-brief pout. "Thorin is actually straining really hard to be polite. He doesn't want to offend the elder kin of the one he is courting. Hildifons might try to call it void."

"What could they be fighting about? I should go sort this out," he insisted, attempting to rise again, but Farabert gave a groan and closed the door, placing his chair in front of it and crossing his arms.

"Did you not hear me?" Fortham said. "You really don't want to be out there. Your suitor is attempting to be _very_ polite, both of them are, but the tension is thick enough to jig upon. Stay in here where it's safe."

"But-" Bilbo whimpered, and Fíli sighed and leaned forward to stick Bilbo's fork in a large hunk of meat and shove it in his mouth.

"Seriously, Bilbo," he insisted. "You're going to have to learn to trust a little. Nobody wants to ruin things for you."

"Thorin won't bugger this up," Glóin grunted around a mouthful. "And Dwalin wouldn't let him, in any case."

"Besides, Uncle Hildifons is more amused than anything," Folstoph mused. "He told them you'd be joining us in a céilí tonight, and that your Dwarves absolutely could not go with you."

"Yeah, about that. What is it and why can't we come?" Kíli demanded, leaning against Glóin and peering over Bilbo's shoulder.

Glóin grunted and shoved him off, swallowing down the last of his lunch, and perhaps Bilbo ought to see about feeding them all a bit more, since Glóin seemed to have swallowed that lot whole. 

"As your Lord and current protector of your rights," Glóin started, ignoring the lads thrilled high five and the confused murmurs of his Hobbit cousins. "Where are you going and why cannot we join you for protection? There are Orcs out after us, if you'll recall," he said, shoving his empty plate at Fortham and scowling.

Folstoph snorted loudly.

"Now the way Daisy tells it, you lot had to be led in by Bilbo on a string, like giant, homicidal ducklings in a long squabbling row," he laughed, rolling his eyes. "How many Goblins do you think will make it more than a few feet into our territory?"

The Dwarves stared at him.

"Really? No Orc, Elf or wandering Man will interrupt is tonight. It will not be permitted."

"You remember the story I told you yesterday?" Bilbo asked with a grin. "Bullroarer Took leading the fight against the Orcs coming to invade The Shire?"

"We do," Fíli said.

"History tells that the matter on how to deal with the invading force was debated for three days, before Bullroarer disregarded the squabbling and made the journey North with the brethren that would come, a few days later. Till then, the Goblins had been running about making a right old fine mess trying to make inroads into the North regions. They were starting to make tracks towards more settled areas -more luck than anything- when Bullroarer stopped 'em at Long Cleave," Farabert told them matter-of-factly. "Our lands repay us for our care by keeping us safe, best they can."

"The only time those defences have failed was when a terrible winter set in, long and bitterly cold," Bilbo told them quietly, eyes on his near-full plate but very very far away. "The trees slept deeply and the land was dormant, and wolves come from over the frozen river were able to follow the smell of food to our dwellings and took those hungry and defenceless."

The three Took brothers all shifted and lifted fingers to lips, muttering small remembrances and ushering kisses outward to the souls departed, sorrowed and reflecting for a moment, before Bilbo shrugged.

"Besides," Bilbo said, giving in to the aggressive attempts to have him sit and eat, shoving a large piece of cheese in his mouth and talking rudely around it. "Thorin has been worrying about providing suitable payment for the service provided to us through shelter and safe rest here. If there is any payment that could be rendered, joining the céilí would be it."

"But what is it, and why can't we come?"

"Hobbit thing," Folstoph said simply, amused by Kíli's continued pout. "Outsiders are not permitted. Even those courting our cousin."

"It's a Hobbit way of helping the forest stay healthy," Bilbo told them, when Fíli's face turned obstinate. "I will not so much be directing payment at our hosts, but at the _land_ that hosts us. More, payment for the bounty of comfort we found in our night after that horrid business with the Orcs, and for that we share in feasting here."

"So we should help provide payment," Kíli insisted, and Glóin cut a hand across the air sharply.

"He said no, boys. Theirs is Hobbit business, and we have no cause to interfere. Let it lie."

The lads both pouted, and his cousins looked amused, but they all sat silent while he worked his way through the contents of his lunch plate. 

"You'll need to rest and eat some more if you're to join us tonight," Fortham told him, going to nudge Farabert away from the door. "Don't know the last time you participated in one, but the Old Lands are wilder, pull a lot more from you. If it weren't a full moon, I'd be telling Uncle off for letting you out when you still look half dead."

"I do not," Bilbo said crossly, glaring. "I've lost a teensy bit of weight-"

"A teensy bit?" Fortham said, looking at his waist. "I've seen orphaned children of Men with healthier padding."

"Leave him be," Daisy scolded, poking her head around the cleared doorway. "It's safe to come out now. Hildifons convinced your beau to let you out of his sight for the eve."

"A miracle," Bilbo huffed, stalking away from the snickering lot of them to find the kitchen. 

Dwarves. And Hobbits. 

Arses, the lot of them.

***

Beds were the most amazing thing ever, and he never wanted to leave this one. It was the warmest, best smelling bed in existence, and came with lovely dreams of big Dwarven hands running through his hair and rubbing his back and lips touching gently to his forehead, the little space behind his ear, and the exposed curve of his shoulder. He hummed happily, undulating in his warm cavern of blankets and snuffling contentedly into his pillows.

"Don't go back to sleep," Dwalin's voice murmured near his cheek, running his nose over Bilbo's. "You have to wake up now."

Bilbo made a noise he was certain would convey all his displeasure at that idea, and reached to wrap his arms around the lovely big pillow in front, and nestle back against the one behind him. He was comfortable, confound it all, and he was not waking from the best dream ever, in the most wonderful bed ever.

"You're so adorable when you sleep," Thorin said, laying a few soft kisses to the back of his shoulder. "Your face twitches and you drool and curl up like a kitty; when you aren't sprawled in every which direction, kicking those closest and snoring loud enough to wake the dead, that is."

"Says _you_ ," Bilbo said crossly, eyes opening against his will. "A Hobbit could not even compete with the noise that a Dwarrow makes when sleeping. And I do NOT kick."

"You do," Dwalin snorted, grinning at him when Bilbo blinked, taking in the sight of the burly great Dwarrow wrapped around him. "You don't like to be cold when you sleep. When you aren't wrapped around yourself to stay warm, you're kicking out all over the place, presumably to search for blankets or such warmth. Last week, you kicked out and got Bombur right in the bum, and then rolled all the way over to curl against his back straight after. You were cold."

"I hate to be cold," Bilbo admitted, shivering all over when Thorin nosed his hair aside and kissed along the curve of his neck, slow and warm, rasping stubble and hot breath making him pant a little at the feel.

"Should have been keeping you warm all this time," Thorin said regretfully, nipping carefully at his earlobe, eyes bright when Bilbo stiffened and then moaned. 

"You will have no reason to be cold again," Dwalin promised, reaching to run a hand through Thorin's hair, across his scalp, kneading and caressing, and Thorin arched into the caress with a pleased hum. "If it pleases our beloved, we shall always be available to offer him warmth at our sides."

"It pleases," Bilbo whispered after a moment, more than a little awed. Dwalin was speaking about _him_. Bilbo! He was _beloved_. It was going to take a while before that didn't boggle his mind. He buried his face into his pillow again, blush making its way up his face.

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked hesitantly, the Dwarrows both abruptly moving back a bit. "I hope we have not offended, by being here? Your uncle wished for you to come for dinner, before your secret Hobbit business, and we thought to wake you ourselves. We did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You make me the very opposite of uncomfortable," Bilbo managed to say around the grin he was trying to mask in his pillow. "Come back and cuddle me for a moment more," he insisted.

He couldn't resist the half-mad cackling into his pillows when they moved back close and hugged him carefully. He was just so _happy_ right now.

"Umm," Thorin said, and Bilbo giggled and kicked out and rolled back into Thorin's bulk, hauling Dwalin along with him.

"You are both infuriating," Bilbo said happily, digging his hands into Dwalin's beard with a hum. "You've wormed your way so deeply into my heart."

"Oh," Dwalin said, breath catching, and Thorin went stock still behind him. "Do you mean it?"

"Hmmm?" Bilbo was very concerned with leaning far enough back to rub his chin against Thorin's, and with petting and running Dwalin's beard ruff between his fingers. "Mean that you are dear to me? Oh yes. It's exasperating."

Both of them quivered in the most interesting of ways, and Bilbo carefully filed away that information -they were not immune to expressions of affection- and he was just starting to take a deep breath in preparation for the pouncing the two were looking like they would be doing any second, when the door burst open and Grigory popped his head around the frame. 

"Stop with the canoodling. It's dinner time, and you're to dress. We'll be leaving soon after!" he burst out with, and flounced back out again. Bilbo sighed.

"The Bumbleroot family can take a bit of getting used to," he said, when Thorin and Dwalin stared after his -very- distant cousin with scowls upon their faces. "They can be a bit short in manner."

"Rude," Thorin huffed, and Bilbo stared at him a moment before descending into giggles. 

"What?" Thorin demanded, when Bilbo's laughter made him release them and clutch at his stomach. " _What?_ "

"You," Bilbo managed weakly through his giggles, pushing them both away and crawling slowly from the bed. "'Rude'. Pot... kettle," he gasped.

Thorin blushed, and Bilbo howled, and grabbed for his clothes, escaping to the safety of the little bathroom across the hall with chortles raking his frame.

***

The prospect of being part of a céilí again was... thrilling. 

It wasn't that they were not a frequent affair in the Shire, oh no. Every full moon was a Shire-wide event, and the dark of the moon was particularly good for certain growth. A sour looking vegetable patch or a sorry looking patch of wildflowers over his hill were the perfect excuse for him to scurry to his backyard bare as the day he was born and dance to his own rhythm, and any Hobbit worth the fur on his feet would take his family to the woods for an eve if there was evidence of poorliness in the wild growth. Céilís were part of the life of a Hobbit, and he was all Hobbit in this regard. 

The Shire, however, was a young land really, one that had grown with the Hobbits that resided there. It was, well. Perhaps tame was a word one could apply. The land and all that grew there was gentle and responded best to how Hobbits were now. Peaceful and fairly mild in temperament. Not particularly taxing for the average Hobbit, and that was fine. Gentle and tame were what Hobbits needed after the Wandering Days. There was nothing wrong with that.

Bilbo had just always been a little more inclined towards the... not so tame.

His garden was rich with hardy tomatoes and wild nasturtiums, thick-stemmed marigolds and thorny berry bushes, and his wild rambling roses in his courtyard spanned the entire back of the hill in great big blooms that were the envy of half the Shire. He'd never been able to coax a marrow of any kind to fullness in his beds, not courgettes or pumpkins of any kind, the vines were a little too sensitive too the edge of wildness he felt when he lost himself to the rhythm, and sweet peas would not even peak their buds from the ground for him, but he'd always been in high demand with his tenants in encouraging the wild clover and buckwheat and mustard to grow thick and wild over the fallow fields. Bilbo liked it wild.

Just... there was wild. And there was _wild_. 

The air here was thick like molasses on his skin, demanding and feral. The forest of the Old Lands was an ancient land, a land that had fended for itself long before the beings that would one day be Hobbits tended to them, a land that had known Dwarrows, Orcs, and Men and Elves, that felt evil lapping at its borders and felt rage at the injustice, after standing firm for countless aeons. It was no tame land, and it was a little intimidating to be contemplating really dancing wild. And the concern that he had not participated in a céilí for so long, he was starved for it.

Being adventuring with Dwarrows had been hard. They'd for a long time had no patience with his Hobbity oddness -so he'd thought- and truly, he'd not been in a position to reveal Hobbit secrets to them in any case, so he'd repressed a lot of ingrained impulses and desires for the whole trip. And now he was set to dance again, and his whole body _itched_ with it, the urge to run and scream and pound his feet against the dirt floor of the forest, throw his arms in the air and reach for the music like thick waves in the air.

It was a little frightening, the desperation in him, and in the forest, and the _anticipation_ building hard in his whole body, his gaze was narrowing on the tapping of Bandobras' spoon on the table, the rolling beat of his quick moving utensil, his fellow hobbits focused all on the same spot, the same urgency running through them as well. 

"Are you well?" Dwalin whispered close to his ear, and Bilbo shot him a grin that was all teeth, manic and frustrated, and hissed an affirmative, barely paying attention to the wildly surprised looks that gained him from the Dwarrows. 

"I would say that is just about enough of that," Bilbo barely heard Hildifons say sharply, focus narrowed in on the rolling beat of that spoon. "If you lot aren't going to be doing any more eating, I think that you had better be off, then."

"Are you sure-" Thorin asked, as the throbbing and hum grew louder in Bilbo's ears.

"They'll be fine," Hildifons insisted firmly, as Ivy cackled and spun in place, hands weaving about her face.

"But-" 

"They need to run," Hildifons insisted, and Bilbo just barely noticed his Uncle's hand on his arm, leading him towards the door, his Took cousins roughly cavorting about ahead of him, slamming into each other and laughing in a way that was more hysterical-hooting than anything, and followed after them faithfully, the forest beckoning.

Dimly, he heard someone calling him, and Hildifons' stern insistence that he would return by morning, but he ignored it all and scampered up the stairs and out the Smial, the first hit of crisp night air slapping him and making him gasp, his head clearing for a moment, before the rhythm of the forest's melody caught him, and he was off.

He let his feet thump the ground, running fiercely, revelling in the contact with the wild, wild land. The cadence of the forest song was a thud and a rolling beat and a high feral whine of wind in the tree tops, and the ever-so distant roll of thunder, a noise that failed to concern him on a night such as this. A Hobbit at Céilí never came to harm.

He ran and ran, the wind his wings, and the roaring of the leaves singing their song drowning everything else out. The air was fresh and the loam moist and rich beneath his feet and the scents of the wildflowers heavy and heady. He screamed into the night, hearing the far off calls of his kin answering him, and howled and stamped and let his core flow, feeding the land about him, bouncing and jigging in exhilaration.

He was alone and not, the trees and the bushes and the tiny tender shoots his wild partners, and when the tempo picked up, a crazed pounding that he could barely keep up with, his ancestors stamped with him, the forest full, spirits whirling and singing the old songs with him.

Vines twisted about his ankles, and branches reached for his arms, and he danced, the beat thrumming in his veins, his heart, his head a pound of noise and thrum of energy, the land his origins, the lifeblood of his people, the reason they were _made_ , and he opened his soul to the call of the earth, loved it with his whole being, sharing everything he was with it. 

The hours flew by, the rhythm and the stories of the land filling his being, feet ever moving, legs flying over stumps and bushes, no step out of place, no hesitation in his tempestuous romp. 

He told of himself, and the forests sung him their secrets, and further, running further than he would have intended had he not been lost in the moment, his feet carried him west, and he listened breathlessly for the great strains of times gone by, and the memories of dwarrows, of which he revelled in. The forest forgot nothing, and the Misty Mountains had been a great dwarven empire, and well did they remember a time when Aulë's children provided a safe barrier on their west side; gladly did they share with him their memories. He danced and he sung and he lamented with them, and they sent him to the oaks, the memories the richest and fondest. 

Gleefully, he shared in their unreasonable affection for the creatures of the stone, laughter bubbling out of him at their mournful confusion, danced for them, shared of himself what he could even as they fed him their stories, and he barely even noticed when he reached absently to catch the falling object that fell from a bough of a tree, or the soft oak leaves gifted, simply caught them from the air as he pranced and thanked them for their existence, and continued on his romp.

He followed the flow of the forest as it gently herded him back to home, and a tiny part of his mind marvelled at how the trees leant to keep him covered from the rain that fell as he swayed and twirled, but mostly he ignored it and concentrated on what he had come out to do. 

It would be coming on to morning far too soon, he knew that, but rather than lagging now, his pace picked up again, feet flying and tapping and barely connecting with the ground, and he devoted all his attention to shoving everything he was into the forest. He'd leave this place soon, and he may never make it back. He'd help it as much as he could before he left. 

The forest beckoned, and he ran on, and whooped his joy, fingertips glancing across outstretched branches. There was no finer night to be a Hobbit.

***

Staggering back to the Smial was difficult, through the forest helped him where it could, still vibrant and vividly aware in the wake of the romp, practically glowing in the morning light. Hildifons was waiting near the clump of trees where the little round door was hidden, and he tutted at Bilbo's approach.

"Clear wore yourself out, did you? I told you to take it easy," he grumbled, catching Bilbo and guiding him around to the door. "The others were all sensible enough to return hours ago. Your Dwarrows are pacing furrows in my floor boards!"

"Dint know when'd be back," Bilbo slurred. "Or ev'r. Good forest. Help what I could."

Hildifons humphed loudly, but halted them before the door and held out a soft suede pouch.

"Drop your gift in there, lad. I'll keep it safe until you're conscious again."

Bilbo stared at him blearily for a moment, before dropping to trace the path of the pouch when Hildifons made a sound like an amused snort, and moved the pouch under Bilbo's hand, and attempted to wiggle the item he clutched free without actually touching it.

Proving again that Bilbo was rather an annoying little bugger when he wanted to be, he instead lifted his clenched fist up to his face to stare at it in a state of slow bemusement. He had a fist full of oak leaves, touched with golden yellow and vivid orange and deep dark red from the slowly turning seasons. There was something hard amongst it, and Bilbo felt a frisson of excitement at the sight before another wave of exhaustion caught him.

Hildifons was frowning, though. 

"You can't have got it from Oak," he said, mostly to himself. "Oak's are deciduous. And they're too far out _Bilbo_ , just how far out did you romp, lad? Foolish child. It must have come from the Yews out west a ways. At least you had the presence of mind to wrap it safe. Drop it in here, boy, and we shall get you to your Dwarrows."

Bilbo let his uncle nudge him into dropping his handful into the pouch, almost letting it fall to the ground when he was caught with a wide yawn that scrunched his whole face up, mouth gaping wide.

Hildifons sighed.

"Ridiculous creature," he tutted fondly, tucking the pouch away in his vest and half-dragging Bilbo inside and down the stairs.

Bilbo's eyes shut, quite against his will, but he was quite beyond talking them into opening again, so he let himself be led, and tried to remember to put one foot in front of the other when Hildifons scolded him for forgetting. 

Not long and he was lowered onto warmth and heat and lots of hands, and he put everything he had into slitting his eyes a little.

"Hello, brothers," he managed to slur, when it managed to penetrate his poor befuddled brain that he was lying across Bofur's lap, head in Bombur's, with Bifur hovering and petting his hair gently.

"I still say it is not even vaguely fair that they get to claim that right," Dori complained from beside him, and Bilbo blinked and turned his head slowly, noting the rest of the Company all hovering beside him. Oh, they did all look quite grumpy.

Bilbo grinned at them. 

The songs the Oak had sung for him of Dwarrows long gone came back to him, and he trilled a few stories to them, sharing the tales he had heard of their ancestors, eyes falling shut and completely missing the gob-smacked expressions of his lads as he crooned softly, until someone tapped him sharply on his forehead. He pouted; song cut off and opened his tired grainy eyes again.

"Enough of that, now," Hildifons said sharply, but he smiled to soften the words. "Can't be sharing all our secrets. Sleep, nephew."

Bilbo grinned again, glad when someone draped a blanket over his body. He crooned one more little tune softly, and turned his head into Bombur's nice warm tum and drifted off to the soothing tones of Thorin ranting at his uncle.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Céilí music... I have something in mind. If you want a bit of theme music to help you with reading that bit, then head on over to youtube and pull up some Albannach. To be honest, I much prefer their live stuff to the recorded, as their recorded stuff tends to make more of the bagpipes than the drums, which is sad. I'm all about the drums, peeps! My favourite is the recording of their performance at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Not a professional recording, but if you want to know what I was listening to and imagining for Céilí, that's it!
> 
> *smooches for all*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, ha ha, ha.... a chapter. Whut is happening, I hear you say!! I know. Got off my arse, finally. 
> 
> So, as always, Beta Beth is amazing and wonderful and a bloody well spring of obscure information that makes things a thousand times better. I mean it- amazing. Give praise and adulation, dear peeps. What a champ.
> 
> Also, I heartz Nub Nub. Totally going to plug a thing here, go check out Issaro's fic: A King Within Mountain Deep. http://archiveofourown.org/works/5369666   
> It is the most amazeballs thing, I swear. My new favourite. I think I've read it about two dozen times now. Go read it, people, it has not had near the attention it deserves. And we must convince dearest Nub that she must write more. GO. Read it! Well, after reading this, of course....

Chapter 9.

 

They were staring.

It was very disconcerting, and a little distracting, and more than a bit annoying considering how tired he was. He was feeling nice and mellow, bugger it all, and these great lumps of Dwarrow were ruining it. 

"What?" he asked between bites, and he had meant it to be testy, but instead, he just sounded sleepy.

None of them said anything, but shifted a little uncomfortably in their seats. His Hobbit kin were too busy scooping the lovely wanderers' stew into their gobs to be paying much attention to his Dwarrows, so he shrugged and got back to eating. He was _ravenous_. 

His spoon hit the bottom of his bowl, and he reached for the ladle to refill, but Dwalin shoved a nice big hunk of cheese and herb bread into his hand while Thorin refilled his bowl, and he shrugged again and concentrated on eating. 

Although. They were all staring again. 

He sighed while he used the last of his bread to mop up the sops from the bottom of the bowl and shoved it in his mouth. Perhaps it was his manners? If there was any time that a Hobbit was not held accountable for terrible table manners, it was the first meal after a céilí such as that which he had danced last night, and it was possible that the Dwarrows were surprised that he was behaving like a, like, well. Like _them_ at meal times. 

Tough. He was _starving_.

And Gandalf was laughing at him behind his pipe. 

(The canny old bugger had apparently been found having tea, calm as you please, at the breakfast table that morning. How he had found the Smial was a mystery to them all. Bilbo would be having some very serious _words_ with the old coot later.)

A plate of pies took the place of his bowl, and he spared Bofur a grateful grin and set to work on the plate.

"Is this... normal?" Thorin suddenly asked, though when Bilbo glanced at him, mouth full of pie, his betrothed was looking at Hildifons.

"Is what normal?" his uncle asked, terribly amused by the sound of him, and Gandalf choked back another chuckle behind his pipe, but Bilbo turned his attention back to his plate, concentrated on steadily eating his way through another of the fist-sized pies, meaty and filling and with the thick, rich, offal gravy that he just knew was from Cousin Pansy’s recipe. Rumour had it she had received three proposals of marriage on the basis of her gravy alone. (That one of the Waterfield cousins had the recipe was very interesting. He'd be asking Daisy about that, later.)

"He's eaten more in the last half hour than most Dwarrows would eat in a day, possibly two," Kíli exclaimed, and Bilbo glanced up to find the lad staring at him in fascination. Again. Bilbo shrugged, and popped the last pie in his mouth, hand already reaching across the table for a tray of baked vegetables.

Dwalin grabbed it ahead of him, and started ladling vegetables onto the plate, adding spoonful after heaped spoonful as Bilbo forked them up almost as fast as the poor dwarf could serve them. 

Alright, so even the others weren't quite as bad as he was at the moment. He'd been starved for a Céilí, so he'd run hard. Very hard. The others were at least taking the time to serve themselves properly, and eating at a fairly normal pace.

He'd not run a Céilí hard enough to leave him this ravenous in _years_. It felt wonderful.

"Normal, yes," Hildifons chuckled, and moved another deep dish filled with a fish casserole closer to Bilbo, taking the all-but-empty vegetable tray from Dwalin. Bilbo mostly ignored them, scooping great dollops of the casserole onto his plate. 

He moaned a little around the first few bites. The deliciousness of food the day after a céilí was indescribable, and his uncle truly was a wonderful cook. The Waterfield cousins had stayed back with his Uncle as well, the previous night, and Bilbo could smell Tobtin's tayberry crumble. His stomach grumbled happily at the thought of it to come, and he moaned happily again, and ignored the funny shifting of Dwalin next to him. The lot of them had been acting very strangely around him since he woke. 

He finished the plate off, chasing some of the creamy sauce around his plate, but the plate moved away, and a worried squeak made its way out his throat before Dwalin plonked an overladen bowl down in its place and Bilbo grinned and dove in. Yes, the bowl held _much_ more, and there was a pile of fluffy mashed taters in there with it. His beloved was amazing. He hooked one foot around Dwalin's ankle in thanks as he ate.

"I... don't understand," Glóin admitted, and he sounded so worried, that Bilbo's spoon actually paused in his mouth and he looked up. Indeed, Glóin looked worried, and Bilbo wanted to pretend that all was fine and stop his attack on the edibles around him, but his stomach gave a soft gurgle, and he spooned the last creamy bite of casserole in his gob and reached for the serving spoon, shooting his uncle a pleading look. Hildifons just grinned at him.

"He's too tiny," Bombur said, and Bilbo caught sight of him wringing his hands together watching him. "He'll pop from all this. He hasn't the paunch to fit it all in!"

Bilbo grunted around his mouthful, something that was meant to be reassuring for his new brother but sounded more like a barnyard impression, and rolled his eyes, swallowing to clear his mouth long enough to explain, but explanations were long, and, well, really.... _food._ He shrugged again, and looked pointedly at Hildifons when he returned laden with more dishes, pouting when Bandobras promptly hoarded the platter of sausages for himself.

"He'll be just fine," Hildifons said, taking the remains of the casserole away and handing it to Folstolph to finish, setting a bowl of what was most certainly his Uncle's special sorrel soup and a plate of cheese scones and wilted greens in front of Bilbo, who tucked in happily. "Hobbits are... not like other folk. Not all the time, in any case."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Dwalin growled fiercely at him, petting Bilbo's arm gently when he looked up from his dinner in alarm. 

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist," his uncle said with far more amusement than the moment qualified for, but Bilbo was a little busy with the lovely steamed greens with sweet herb dressing to consider telling him off for it. "This lot went for a Céilí last night, and now they have to... replenish themselves, that's all."

"Explain," Bombur demanded, and Bilbo _did_ pause then, for a moment at least, for he was sure he had _never_ heard his friend sound so hard. Hildifons rolled his eyes at him, all the same.

"You aren't going to tell them anything, are you?" Toman demanded, forking a goodly portion of the sausages off Bandobras' plate and onto Bilbo's. Oh, it was official. Between those pies he could smell, and stealing sausages off his cousin for him, the Waterfields were his new best friends.

"Bilbo is my brother, as good as born to my own mother by the traditions of my people," Bombur said loudly, slamming one hand down on the table and glaring fiercely. "I have the right to be concerned for his well-being!"

Hildifons glared back just as fiercely, holding one quelling hand up when it looked like Toman looked ready to snap back, and nudged Bilbo until he returned to his dinner.

"So you think that Hobbits make a habit of feeding their kin until they die from the strain?" he demanded crossly, and then sighed. 

Bilbo shifted uneasily in his chair and nibbled nervously on a scone, barely aware that he was losing half of the rich baked treat as it fell in crumbs onto his plate. Thorin leaned to smooth a hand gently down his back, and he let his eyes drop to his plate, torn on what he should do. Well, he should definitely keep eating, but... He hadn't meant for things to come to this when he had brought his Dwarrows here. The last thing he wanted was tension between the groups, and his Dwarrows were coming awfully close to demanding answers he just was not in a position to give.

He should have seen this coming. Running the Céilí was selfish.

"I acknowledge you as kin of my kin," Hildifons said all of a sudden, and Ivy dropped her spoon, the table going quiet. "Some things I will tell you. But not now. This lot need to eat. Be easy," he said, when a few of the Dwarves looked to argue. "They're doing nothing that Hobbits would not commonly do after Céilí. Look, Reginald is already about done. He was the first back, so that's normal. Bilbo will go strong for a while now. Let him eat, and then we shall talk."

"Seriously?" Tobtin demanded from where he was clearing away some empty platters. "You're going to tell _Dwarves_ about us?"

"Kin of our Kin," Hildifons said sharply, and turned to look pointedly at Bilbo and his sausages, until he tucked back into the plate.

Bilbo managed several more bowls of stew, a plate or two more of stuffed onions and a wonderful borage and dandelion salad, all with a side of tension-filled silence, before he finally felt like his body was slowing in its burning of the energy-rich materials he was consuming, and his stomach was beginning to fill, and he slowed.

He had, of course left room for dessert. It truly was a work of art. Some other time, Bilbo would have written a poem in honour of that crumble. The fruit was sharp , poached in a syrup with a delicate hint of herbs to offset the tartness. The crumble topping was spread generously thick and had cobnuts added for extra crunch. The custard was creamy and sweet, the perfect complement to the fruit. As Bilbo motioned for a third helping – purely because there was some left in the dish and it would be unforgivable to waste such a crumble! – Dwalin opened his mouth to comment, but at a glare from Hildifons thought better of it and settled for a cough instead.

He was the last done, but they had well and truly eaten through the stock of food Hildifons and the Waterfields had spent the night preparing, and Bilbo settled into slowly enjoy fruit pies and tea with a satisfied hum. 

"Oh, thank goodness," Dori said, and next to him, Bifur sniffled and mumbled something that made the others all nod sadly. 

"I'm alright, lads," Bilbo said, sighing happily when Thorin carefully refilled his tea cup and Dwalin slid some biscuits onto his tea plate. "Just needed to replenish what I gave, that's all."

"But what does that even _mean_ ," Ori asked tearfully, but Hildifons sent Bilbo a look, and set Daisy and Folstoph to helping the Waterfields clear the dishes, and started herding his Dwarrows into the sitting room, and Bilbo went with tea cup and plate, still absently munching, and ignoring the sound of the Bumbleroot brothers bickering lowly with Hildifons behind them. 

This would certainly be an... _enlightening_ conversation.

His shoulders slumped. This was not going to be pleasant.

"Oh, now don't look like that," Myrtle whispered from his elbow, and winked at him tiredly when he owlishly looked her way. "From what I've heard, things are looking up for you, so no need to look so down, now, is there?"

"Oh shush," he blustered softly, and absolutely did not blush at her smirk when Thorin and Dwalin tried to herd him into sitting with them. Bombur cleared his throat loudly, though, and hooked an arm around Bilbo, and steered him to a seat in between Bifur and Bofur, glaring at _everyone_.

"Bombur?" he asked tentatively.

"You were gone a long time last night," Nori answered for the bristling dwarf that was his official brother. "And then you came back looking half-dead, slept all day through to supper, and then ate your way through more food than we've fed to you the whole three months we've been travelling together. He's _worried_." 

"He's not the only one," Óin added testily, and rocked back into a chair with a hrmph. 

"I'm sure all will be explained to your satisfaction soon," Gandalf said from his corner of the room, looking far too satisfied with events for his own good. Oh, there would be _words_ later.

"Oh really, what a fuss over nothing," Bilbo tried, but Bofur yanked him to sit properly and let Dori and Balin fuss about setting a tea tray out for him while Dwalin brought the biscuit plate (Bilbo did not miss Thorin smacking Dwalin's hand firmly when Dwalin made to take one of the delicate shortbread petticoat tails for himself, and Bilbo rolled his eyes with a chuff of laughter, passing several to his poor wounded looking love).

"Hobbits," Hildifons said firmly from his armchair, and drawing the undivided attention of every person in the over-crowded sitting room, "are creatures born of purpose. I know not of Men and Elves and Dwarves, but Hobbits were born of love and a great need, and that is all I can say of it." Here he stopped and scowled at Tobtin, and then turned back to the Dwarrows, holding one hand up when it looked like they would all burst into protest. "All I can say of our creation in itself. The _consequences_ of the nature of our creation, however, I shall tell to you."

Toman huffed and left the room, and Bilbo shared one long-suffering look with his Uncle. Who knew, of all the Hobbits here, that it would be the cheerful Waterfield cousins that would be the most violently opposed to sharing their secrets? Hobbits could be isolationists, yes, but not usually to such an extent.

"In any case, the fact is, that Hobbits are... connected. To the lands we walk. Our basic state of being, is to assist the green things in their growth, and that we may do just by the simple act of taking a lovely afternoon stroll."

"What are you on about," Glóin asked irritably, though Bilbo was a little surprised to realise that he could easily detect a heavy note of concern in his tone.

"With every step we take on this land, we can give of ourselves to keep it well. It is the gift of the Hobbit. The land feeds the Hobbit, the Hobbit feeds the land. Thus we are in harmony, and fulfil our purpose."

"So you... feed the plants by walkin' on 'em?" Nori asked, scrunching his face up. "What sorta purpose is that?" 

"The _land_ , not the plants. Weren't you listening?" Grigory said snottily, and Bilbo glared at him. (Yes, Bilbo was snotty with the stupid dunderheads all the time, but that was different. They were _Bilbo's_ Dwarrows, and he could scowl at them all he wanted.)

"What's the difference?" Bombur asked, huffing, even as he carefully poured another cup of tea for Bilbo.

"The land is the entity," Bilbo said gently, smiling in gratitude to his new brother. "The land is far more than just a few plants. It is a system, a symbiotic community, and more than the sum of its parts. We feed the system, help it to sustain itself. Some of that is reaching out to the plants and trees around us, but it's more than that, really."

"Great Lady Yavanna entreated the Song Maker, Eru himself, to make the Ents to protect the trees from your kind," Hildifons interrupted, as if none of them had even begun speaking to begin with. "Because she feared your kind would desire them as fuel for your forges. Certain parties who loved the land that had been created as much as its creator, thought that this was not enough, and that there would come a time where a great deal more would be needed. We were the result of the need those parties saw."

His Dwarrows blinked. The Hobbits nodded as though that had made perfect sense. And to a Hobbit, it really did.

"Well, that made no sense at all," Óin huffed. 

"It's about as much as you can be told about that," Bilbo told them, shrugging under their confused glares. "Really, there are reasons we cannot say. We are, in fact, being deliberately vague, but it is not ill meant. Think of it as... the Ents were meant to be the guardians. We are the caretakers."

Gandalf hummed in his corner thoughtfully, and Bilbo hid a grin. As far as he knew, even the Maiar did not know where Hobbits came from, and it was bound to be frustrating to be so close to a truth, and still be denied it. Not that Gandalf would ever admit his ignorance on such a matter of import. Not he. He would sit there and look all-knowing and give that insufferable smirk of his, but Bilbo knew he was not so omniscient as he cared to behave.

Good. The old sod had surely kept certain pertinent facts from Bilbo this whole sodding journey. Let him be a little frustrated. See how _he_ liked it.

"Why would you feed the _land?_ " Kíli suddenly demanded, from where he had been staring hard at the floor, brow creased in confusion. "I mean, it's just dirt, isn't it?" he asked, when the attention of the room turned to him. "It's dead. I would have thought the focus would be on the things you can eat, is all...." he trailed off, shrinking a little under the incredulous looks of the assembled Hobbits.

"No, no, no," Haldabras said, head popping up from where he had been sleepily partaking of the biscuit plate in front of him. "Dirt isn't _dead_ , far from it! The earth teems with life!"

"Within what you call dirt, Mr Kíli," Bandobras took over, "are thousands of life forms. Fungi and insects and _worms_ and beings so small that you will never be able to see them with your own eyes. Hobbits know they are there for that is what we are for. To feel the whole that is the land, and help keep it healthy and thriving. Without all those things within the earth, there would be no plants, and also, yes, no food."

"Plants and trees and grass, they are all the visible parts of the cycle," Bilbo told Kíli, who still seemed confused. "And they eat and breathe and drink, just as you or I do. The soil is their home, their food, their life source, all of it comes from what to most people, is dirt. What exists above the soil is only the sign of what is happening _beneath_. The cycle is far more important than the end result. Most miss that. Hobbits do not. Take care of your soil, and your soil will gift you nice things. Sometimes food."

"Why not always food?" Kíli asked.

"Why always food?" Hildifons asked just as quickly. "All things that grow have a purpose and something to add to where they grow. Men may have deemed some plants as 'weeds', but we have not. Some things have within them certain qualities that benefit us and help us to nourish ourselves, and we call them 'food'. Others do not, but that does not negate their worth in the system that is the land in harmony."

"I am so very confused," Ori admitted.

"Look, when a squirrel dies in the woods, what happens to its body? When leaves fall off a tree onto the ground, what happens to them? When berries fall from a bush to the ground, what happens to them? When a bear poos on the ground, what happens to it?" 

The Dwarrows all blinked at Bilbo.

"It rots," Balin said, tilting his head in confusion.

"Exactly," Bilbo said triumphantly. Still, they did not seem to be getting it. "Well, it doesn't just disappear when it rots, does it? It's still there, it just changes form! It breaks down and becomes food, for the microscopic creatures in the soil, for the worms, for the fungi, to make good, healthy nutritious soil for the _plants_. Plants rot, fruit rots and releases its seed to make babies; poo and flesh and bones and fur and blood and leaves and sticks, great fallen trees, and even stone, it all breaks down and returns to the soil, to make new plants, new trees and fruit and flowers and good things to eat, for birds and beasts and _us_ to eat, and everything we are and ever will be will eventually return to the soil. It is one large cycle that will continue on whether Man, Elf, Dwarrow or Hobbit walk this earth. Unless, of course, corruption prevents the life within the soil to endure. Then, nothing will grow." 

“Gems!” Kili sat up with a start, “they would be part of the cycle too? Minerals are deposited deep under the ground. Over the ages, weather and heat and pressure turn the minerals into gems. Which we mine. Without the cycle there would be no minerals so no gems!”

Hildifons gifted Kili with a smile for the lad’s enthusiasm and genuine attempt to grasp the new concept.

“You begin to understand. Everything is connected. All life is linked to the land.”

"And that is what you are for," Dwalin said suddenly. "You negate corruption. You fight it."

"Well, no," Hildifons said. "We do not fight corruption. But, we can _repair_ it. Generally, where we thrive, there will always be an oasis of hope within the lands we walk, safe from corruption; that is true. It is not our purpose to _fight_ that corruption, not really. Merely ensure that the lands thrive, and occasionally, we're enough to push back when something ain't right."

"And the Céilí?" Bofur asked from beside Bilbo, as serious for this discussion as Bilbo had ever seen him. 

"Hobbits can share of themselves, share their own energy with the system that is the land, at any time, really. Normal sharing is called 'walking with the land', and we can do it anytime, like taking a stroll down to the market, as easy as breathing. Céili is when a Hobbit _dances_ with the land. We run and dance and share and love, and it takes a lot, a lot of energy. The way a Hobbit takes in that energy becomes a little like a plant for a short while, after. A plant must feed constantly to remain healthy. We must eat much after Céilí to replenish what is given, we burn it fast like a plant, for a short time."

"Have we been hurting you?" Fíli asked, his face suddenly wrought with fear. "Have you been, er, _sharing_ all this time, on the journey? I mean, travel rations..."

Dwalin made a pained noise, and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

"No, I have not been sharing as we walked. We are capable of controlling when and where. I have not, you see, for a while, and that's why I ran so long and hard last night, I have missed it. You have to understand, that the exchange is a natural state, we don't even teach our children how, it's just that natural and ingrained! But, well. Hobbits eat six or seven meals a day for a reason, you know," Bilbo said ruefully. "One or two meals of bare travel rations is just not enough to share of myself with the earth. And the lands we have crossed have been unfamiliar and, at times, unfriendly. It was not reasonable to continue so."

"Why are you telling us this?" Thorin demanded, peering at Bilbo's uncle suspiciously.

"So you understand what it is to be a Hobbit, what we are, and what could happen, out here, in the wilds. There are good reasons Hobbits do not stray far from home." Hildifons clucked his tongue behind his teeth for a long moment, and it was obvious to all that he was considering what exactly to tell them next.

"Bilbo told us a story a few days ago," Thorin said slowly, tentatively. "That Hobbits fled this place long ago. That there was a great evil that they fled from?"

Hildifons nodded, and then sat forward suddenly.

"Yes. And that is why I have decided to tell you what I can. Bilbo has told me your story, also, Dwarf King. I know your destination. I know what path you would tread. You intend to traverse the forest now known as Mirkwood."

"We do," Thorin confirmed carefully.

"South?" Hildifons demanded sharply.

"That was our intention," Gandalf said diplomatically, when Thorin's face creased in irritation.

"And what direction, Mister Thorin, do you think that evil comes from? That we ran from so long ago?"

Bilbo's Dwarrows stared at his uncle for long long moments.

"The lands to The South were once known as Fair Greenwood, Mister Dwarf, and now they are known as Mirkwood, and travellers warn each other of the perils that lie within. What exactly do you think that sort of place would do to a Hobbit?" 

"Now, it's not that bad," Bilbo tried, when his poor Dwarves all looked ready to keel over in dead faints- and honestly, what did they really think was going to happen- but Hildifons waved him away.

"You've not been there, lad. I _have_."

"What are you saying?" Thorin asked, and his face told Bilbo more than he probably intended. Either Bilbo was about to be left behind, or their whole quest was about to be cancelled.

"Uncle-"

"Hush, Bilbo," Hildifons said. "You've no idea. That place is corrupt decay, and the Elves do not even realise exactly what is happening to them! It will pull on everything that you have, lad, and after a while, you won't even notice it robbing you of everything you have stored. Tarry too long in that place, it will steal all you have, and you won't even notice until you're watching dark creatures come to feast on your weak, useless flesh." 

"Uncle _Hildifons_ ," Bandobras hissed, and turned back to his cousin. "Bilbo, it isn't good. One does not even notice its insidious theft until you start to hurt. But really, you can survive there, as long as you can get _something_ to eat. Not comfortably, but you can."

"What did you mean," Gandalf suddenly demanded, leaning forward, eyes intent in Hildifons. "The Elves do not realise what is happening to them, that is what you have said. What did you mean by this?"

"The Elves have their own magic, Gandalf," Hildifons told him urgently. "And they cannot help but affect their home and the forest they love with the energy of themselves. They do not even _notice_ that whatever has corrupted that place, it _feeds_ on the energy they have gifted to their forest. It takes it and twists it, and only corruption remains. That is why Hobbits had to leave this place! It was not safe for us anymore."

"Because the corruption feeds on the energy," Nori said sharply. "And you have the ability to provide more of that energy."

Hildifons nodded, sitting back with a great heaving sigh of resignation.

"Whatever it is, whatever feeds there... if it knew what we were, what we could provide, then yes. I do not know the fate of these lands, if the source of that corruption realised that we could provide it with more of what it needs, and a faster way of twisting the lands it resides upon. We do what we can, and we slowly draw our presence and our touch of the lands back, further and further north. It takes time, though, to send the lands to sleep, so they will feel no pain when the inevitable happens, and they are swallowed by the darkness. Why do you think I have stayed all these years? The darkness grows stronger, and our task is still a large one."

"These lands nurtured and protected our kind for countless generations," Bilbo said quietly when his lads still looked a little confused. "It would be the height of dishonour to leave it to be tortured and twisted when centuries of our gifts have left it so awake and aware of all that happens to it. Hobbits come here, and they feed what energy they can into the land, to help keep it safe and healthy for as long as possible, and then we send it to sleep. So when the time comes, it will not be such a torture. It is the very least, and the very best, that we can do."

"At risk to yourselves," Thorin growled, and Hildifons shook his head.

"To protect ourselves, as well. When the land sleeps, there is nothing to show of Hobbits and what they can do. And that is the reason the lands go willingly to their sleep, also. We protect our lands, they protect us. It will always be this way."

"Everything south, and east, for a few weeks walk, is now dormant. We have lulled it to sleep, and the vibrancy has faded and lost all memory of us, of the time before," Bandobras said, and then grinned. "That's why you didn't have to be put on a rope like-

"-giant homicidal ducklings-" Folstoph chimed, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"-like giant homicidal ducklings," Bandobras laughed, "until you were within a few hours walk to the Smial. Our part in this land is shrinking, ever smaller. By design."

"We can't go to Mirkwood," Fíli said suddenly, face hard. "We cannot take Bilbo there."

"Now wait on," Bilbo started, but the Dwarrows had all started to mutter amongst themselves, mostly in Khuzdul, and Bilbo huffed.

"Are we going to turn back?" Kíli asked Thorin seriously, and when Thorin actually looked like he was gravely considering it, Bilbo put his tea cup down with a not-inconsiderable clink.

"Now, that is enough of that. We did not come all this way to turn back _now_ -"

"I knew you would be considering going south through Mirkwood," Hildifons said, as though nobody was speaking, and everybody quieted abruptly. Bilbo huffed, but Hildifons, and everybody else, ignored him. "And I have been thinking on this ever since. I believe I have an answer," he said meaningfully to Thorin. 

"Speak," Thorin demanded, and if Bilbo hadn't started to catch on that Thorin only turned majestically demanding when he was off balance or worried, Bilbo would be across the room to thump him for speaking to his Uncle that way.

As it was, Hildifons seemed to have caught on to that little fact a lot faster than Bilbo had, and seemed more amused, but he turned serious as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Mirkwood is for the most part, lost. For the most part. But, for the very northern reaches of the forest. It would require a crossing of the Forest River, but apart from that, I would say the journey would be far safer for _all_ of you, not just Bilbo."

"How far north?"

Hildifons dithered for a moment, chewing on the mouthpiece of his pipe for a long moment, before he tilted his head to the side and sighed.

"Very north. But, we could help you with that. It may not be the trip you are expecting."

"This is the part where I volunteer," Bandobras said brightly, and Haldobras sighed, but stuck his hand in the air as well.

"Oh bother," Daisy sighed. 

"We don't need you!" Haldobras sang, looking smug, and Daisy glared.

"Someone is going to have to come and mind the two of you so you don't get into mischief!"

"And what exactly are we going to be needing Hobbits for?" Glóin asked.

"Seriously?" Bilbo blurted, all but falling out of his seat. 

"You'll be stuck with us a few more weeks yet, cousin," Baldobras sang.

"Can we go as well?" Folstoph asked eagerly. Hildifons shook his head though, and the Took brothers wilted.

"I need you here. I think it is time we lulled this part of the land off, and moved on. Myrtle and Tobtin started restocking the Gaoth Smial further north a few weeks ago. It shouldn't take more'n a month or two, if we work hard at it."

"Wait a moment," Thorin said abruptly, as he finally understood exactly what was happening. "Would you mind telling me how adding Hobbits to my Company will be helping me any?"

"Any Hobbit assistance is something not to be taken lightly, or without appreciation," Gandalf interrupted, disapproval clear in the way he looked over his pipe at Thorin.

"I do not take light of it at all," Thorin snapped back. "But this quest has already proven far more dangerous than previously expected, and oft times almost deadly for the one Hobbit we already have. How are we to protect three others?"

"As I recall, I'm usually the one doing the protecting," Bilbo said, just as snappily, and scowled at Thorin fiercely. (Dwalin thought this hilarious, and snorfled quite without shame, poking Thorin in the side with glee.)

"You'll need them to guide you the way we would send you. You won't find the path without them," Hildifons said firmly, and shook his head when Thorin looked obstinate. "Giant homicidal ducklings is the phrasing this lot have been throwing around. Do you want to have to be lead the whole way north on a rope like a child?"

Several of Bilbo's Dwarrows crossed their arms and looked quite churlish at the suggestion. Honestly, you'd have thought Bilbo had questioned their right to their beards. _Honestly_.

"My way means there won't be no leading of stubborn Dwarrows on rope," Hildifons said, smile a little smug, when Thorin's face looked more resigned to the inevitable than anything.

"And what, exactly, does your way entail?"

Hildifons grinned, all Took for a moment, his eyes dancing with glee.

"Why, a way you might find wholly satisfying, Mr King. You'll be travelling underground."

***

Bilbo snagged a firm hold of Gandalf's robe when that interesting talk broke up for the night. Bilbo and his fellow Hobbits having run the Ceili the night before had all begun to yawn again, and Hildifons had firmly put his foot down and sent them all to bed, dragging Thorin off to consult maps and such, and talk timeframes. Gandalf had made no move to follow them, which Bilbo found very suspicious indeed, but he was far more interested in one thing.

Giving the old coot a piece of his mind.

So he had no compunctions, really, with dragging the grey robe along with him, Gandalf merely humming in a curious sort of way as he trotted along behind him.

Bilbo started yelling almost the second he had the door of his room shut, but managed to modulate his tone somewhat after only a few words- that, and he wasn't even really sure what he most wanted to shout about _first_.

"You," he finally hissed, "are a _git_." 

"Oh?" Gandalf asked, looking quite unperturbed by Bilbo's outburst, and was in fact making himself rather at home on Bilbo's bed.

He was having rather a few meetings on that bed.

"How long have you known that _Thorin and Dwalin_ have been _courting me? _"__

__Gandalf raised an enquiring eyebrow at him, calmly puffing on his pipe. Did that damnable thing ever go out?_ _

__Bilbo could really do with a smoke._ _

__"From the very beginning, of course. It was a bit hard to miss," Gandalf said, still calm and puffing, and honestly, Bilbo was going to punch him right on the nose._ _

__"Then why, _why_ , Gandalf, did you _not inform me of this?_ "_ _

__Gandalf's other eyebrow raised to join the first, and his little smoke puffs paused a minute as he regarded the fuming hobbit._ _

__"Whatever are you talking about, Bilbo? Why would I need to inform you of what was clear as day?"_ _

__Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to remember how important careful, evenly spaced breaths were._ _

__"I would very much like to use your own staff to whack you over the head a few dozen times," he managed, after a while._ _

__"You know, I really do hear that quite a lot," Gandalf mused after a moment, more to himself than anything, Bilbo thought._ _

__Completely barmy._ _

__"Did it occur to you, that perhaps there might have been a small amount of misunderstanding between Hobbit and Dwarrow, at any stage?" Bilbo asked, voice cracking under the strain of how damn annoying every single being in the entire land was._ _

__"You'd have to be awfully dim to have missed the deferential treatment from that lot, surely?" Gandalf said, a smoke ring curling around his head, and really, Bilbo should make him take that outside. Smoking in bed, how gauche. Not hygienic at all._ _

__"I'm sorry, did you say _deferential treatment?_ In what possible corner of your remaining sanity, does _deferential treatment_ come from? Because I distinctly recall several months of suspicious looks, avoidance of my person, growling at me for no reason, pranks, derisive comments towards my whole species-"_ _

__"And I recall this Company of Dwarves falling over themselves to integrate you into their midst, far hastier than normal when dealing with an outsider," Gandalf interrupted, looking quite irritated at this point, "I also recall the purchase of a pony for you to ride, rather than expecting you to purchase a mount - _as accorded by your contract_ \- and the provision of cloak and hood after you forgot your own- Mister Dwalin gave you his those from his own pack, Bilbo Baggins! More often than not, dinner was served to you before most of the Company, and your bedroll placed by the fire to sleep- a bedroll also provided you since you failed to bring your own gear. You were kept to the middle of the group for protection, never tasked with any chore that would take you from the group on your own, never asked to stand watch... did you think Dwarves normally an especially accommodating sort of race? Because, my dear Bilbo, on the whole, they are _not_."_ _

__Gandalf flopped back with an irritated huff at the end of his small speech, and Bilbo gaped a moment or two, running the last few months of memory back and rearranging a few things._ _

__"If anything, you were the one playing games with their affections. One moment, boldly standing in Thorin's path, skirting around a proper compliment, the next, avoiding him completely, even refusing him a glance. Those lads have been bewildered since all this began. If it hadn't been so amusing to watch, I'd have tanned your hide for it."_ _

__Oh, how Bilbo wanted to be furious right now, wanted to shout and storm and demand to know what the _blighted earth_ Gandalf thought he was doing, laughing at mortals and their fumbling through life, at _Bilbo_ , no less, but... well. _ _

__Goodness he was tired._ _

__"Give me some of that," he muttered churlishly, clambering to sit against the headboard with the wizard, and snatched the pipe from him for a good puff or two. Hildifons would likely be the one tanning his hide, if he were to find him smoking in the bed, but bebother and confusticate everything, he needed it._ _

__Gandalf huffed at him, but Bilbo took the time to draw several good puffs from the thing, wondering again how he never seemed to ever see Gandalf packing his pipe, or running out of weed, either. It would be lovely to have his own never-ending pipe to draw on whenever he felt like._ _

__He might have to steal Gandalf's._ _

__"Right," he said, slightly fortified, even though exhaustion was starting to kick in once again. "This _compliment_ business. Fíli has been harping on about me 'acknowledging' Thorin and Dwalin. Now you tell me, I should have been complimenting them."_ _

__"Compliments are an acknowledgement," Gandalf nodded, as if what he had just said made any lick of sense._ _

__"And why must I do either?" Bilbo snapped, trying very hard not to get worked up again._ _

__"Good grief, Bilbo, I thought that you _wanted_ a courtship with them! Was it indeed your plan to string them along all this time? I thought you indecisive, not cruel."_ _

__"I do _not_ understand, Gandalf!! What the ever-loving Mothers are 'acknowledgements' for in the process of a courting? Why are compliments important? I have no understanding of a Dwarvish courting, and everybody expecting any different is unfair!"_ _

__"A Dwarfish courtship is the same as any other courtship, Bilbo Baggins, and the acknowledgement plays the same importance regardless, do not play fool with me-"_ _

__" _Hobbits_ have no confusicating _acknowledgement_ , Gandalf, we take tea and wheedle dances and present bouquets and sweets! That's it!!!" Bilbo exploded, months and months of confusion and hurt feelings bursting out of him all at once in a bellowing rant. "I do not understand a single thing of _acknowledgement_ , and why could they not just say at any time, 'hey, Bilbo, we like you a bit have some smushed wildflowers how about a canoodle behind that convenient boulder there'? Why, Gandalf, why not?"_ _

__"Because it goes against every agreed upon treaty on Arda to do so, because Thorin is King, and if the King of the Dwarven people of Durin cannot follow the laws of this land, then treaties hundreds of years older than you fall to dust and ruin and the entire continent goes to _war_ , you foolish Hobbit!"_ _

__"But _why?_ " Bilbo answered Gandalf's furious yell with a bellow of his own._ _

__"Because they outrank you!!"_ _

__The room naturally was silent for a long moment after that. Before, of course, Bilbo managed to process that statement and find the appropriate level of ire in response._ _

__"What does _rank_ have to do with it? What are you on about?"_ _

__"Rank has _everything_ to do with courting! One of the primary laws of the treaties, that no person regardless of race or gender, may exert his authority on another in the way of courting. Obviously when it comes to some small village farmhand and the miller's daughter, there is not much care or issue on the subject to be had, but you are a gentle hobbit of property, Bilbo, courted by two prominent lords of the Durin line, one of which would be King of the eldest races of Dwarrow, and their every move in this venture will be questioned and scrutinised. Every demand, every last clause and by-law, they must be adhered to, lest all other treaties of peace between the peoples be dissolved."_ _

__Bilbo took a deep breath, held it as long as he dared, and released it as slowly as possible._ _

__"What..." he managed, before he forced himself to take another breath-hold-release, "treaty?"_ _

__"The Accords of 43, of course, what other would I be speaking of?" Gandalf huffed at him and puffed furiously on his pipe, face thunderous with irritation._ _

__"Never heard of them," Bilbo snapped, snatching the pipe away and dodging the hand that came to filch it back, taking his own turn to puff furiously on the dratted thing._ _

__(He was, of course, lying. Fíli had mentioned something about some Accords, hadn't he? 43 did sound familiar.)_ _

__"Impossible," Gandalf huffed, though he was looking far too frowny for Bilbo to be taking him fully serious. "Proclamations of the Accords were sent to every corner of the land; after all, eight years of negotiations while tidying up the last remnants of a war made them rather important!"_ _

__"Uh huh, and did you yourself assist with this?" Bilbo asked mildly, settling in comfortably._ _

__"That was a few years before my time; my kind did not come to these lands for a few hundred years after. The Accords were finalised in the forty third year of the Third Age," Gandalf admitted, his frown deepening._ _

__"Of course, of course," Bilbo agreed. "And about when was it you became _aware_ of my species, after you arrived here, hmm?"_ _

__Gandalf said nothing this time, just chomped moodily on his pipe for a moment._ _

__"Are you even convinced that Hobbits even _existed_ when those accords were taking place? Goodness, it wasn't until we adopted Common Speech in the Wandering Days that we even _called_ ourselves Hobbits. How could we have even been included, let alone informed, when we did not even keep written records in the old days, let alone know enough to communicate with outsiders. Our oral history tells of limited contact with the Dwarrows of the Misty Mountains, but I indeed mean limited, and I can only imagine the communication difficulties of the time."_ _

__Gandalf muttered something under his breath and stared moodily at nothing._ _

__"What was that?" Bilbo asked sweetly, satisfied that he was _finally_ getting somewhere._ _

__"You pledged yourselves as subjects of the Kingdom of Arnur when you took the lands that would become the Shire," Gandalf objected. "You would have been subject to Arnur rule and law!"_ _

__"The 'kingdom' did not bother much with us at all, Gandalf, merely sent some local lord to confirm faulty, and presented us with basic deeds for wild lands, a few rolls of parchement most of which are kept in the local museum and ignored! They're practically the reason Hobbits built a museum to begin with. The Men did not have time or patience to a little folk that could not fight in their conflicts with them, beyond grateful for a tradeable food source. We've been left to our own devices for thirteen hundred years, Gandalf! How up to date in the politics of Big Folk did you think we were?"_ _

__Gandalf hrumphed and puffed and muttered under his breath for a while longer._ _

__Bilbo took the opportunity to shed his outer layers, and think about taking another bath. He didn't really need one, he'd had a bath when he'd woken for dinner, a grand total of two hours ago. But, soon they would leave the comforts of the Smial, and there would be no hot baths for a long while. Indulging twice in the matter of hours sounded blissful!_ _

__But so did sleep, so he rifled about for the nightshirt he was using during his stay, and started the process of changing and rinsing his hands and face in the basin of clean water by the door._ _

__"Admit it," he said, when Gandalf sat silently puffing for a while. "You were wrong. For once."_ _

__"Actually, the more I think about it, the more amusing your ignorance makes the entire situation," Gandalf decided. "I thought you were playing rather hard to get, making them prove themselves, chase you like your mother chased your father, but really..." he trailed off into soft chortles, and Bilbo scowled._ _

__"Is your uncle aware?" Gandalf asked after a few more amused snorts, and Bilbo pattered back to the bed, giving Gandalf enough if a shove to give himself room to scoot under the soft, fresh blankets._ _

__"Most of it, yes," he sighed, and Gandalf snickered again._ _

__"I must go take tea with the jolly fellow, then. You know, I quite thought your Uncle Hildifons was dead. Lost at sea, I was sure the tale went."_ _

__"Lost at sea is the standard response for Big Folk. Better than 'performing ancient Hobbit magic rituals in sacred ancestral lands', in any case."_ _

__Gandalfs chortles turned to guffaws, and Bilbo let him douse the lantern on the nightstand as he left, snuggling in for another blissful night's sleep in the comfort of a bed._ _

__***_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf is not off the hook yet, but Bilbo is a lot more forgiving now that he realises that Gandalf has been completely unaware of Bilbo's ignorance of the situation. He can't be too mad at him.
> 
> And it really is very funny, you must admit. Hee.
> 
> Hildifons was chosen as the Uncle of Bilbo's to appear in this fic, simply because according to Tolkien, the only thing ever said about him is that he ran off to have an adventure, and was lost at sea. I thought that was a little odd, Hobbits and water being a bad combination, so, heh. There you go. Hildifons, and why he is in Woods. If'n you cared at all.
> 
> (Go read Issaro's fic now. Go. Read it!)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's my birthday, and as part of my 'birthday bonanza', I'm taking a few hours off from 'stuff'. Life is on hold for three hours, so I have time to post some ficcage, woot!
> 
> This chapter has been ready for... months. Like, months and months and months and months. There's still a few things I don't like about it, but part of my gift to myself is to start my own personal new year off with a few less things to stress over. Hence, posting this puppy and getting on with finishing it! The ridiculous thing is, this fic is almost finished! I have some 'in between' stuff to write between this and Erebor, but then it will be done, over, finite. All my peeps that have been messaging, darlings, I am still trying to get this done, I promise. Woods is not abandoned!
> 
> Hand clapping in order for ms Beta-Beth, mcshepletgirl, who sighs over my mistakes and gently fixes what she can, and for the Nubs, Issaro, who listened to much whining, helped me work out what was wrong with the first draft of this, and how to fix it. Champs, the both of them.
> 
> Quick recap: Bilbo explains the Céilí, plans are made on how to get through the forest to Erebor, Gandalf and Bilbo have it out over treaties, and Bilbo is sleeping. And peeps, to clarify, since there seems to be some confusion and some blame-game happening: the Hobbits are NOT in possession of a copy of the treaties; when they arrived where they are now, the locals ASSUMED that EVERYBODY knows that stuff (seriously, think for a moment peeps- if a new neighbour moved in next to you, would you take around a casserole and spend a few hours explaining the entire legal system for your country? Nope, you'd assume they would know not to shit in the street or murder local children, because EVERYBODY knows that) and simply handed them land deeds. Gandalf wasn't around when the treaties were made, and he's not omniscient, and by the time he stumbled upon Hobbits, they were already established in the Shire and neighbours to the Men. Why would he introduce himself with a query as to whether they were up to date with all current treaties and customs? It's seriously something that just never came up- Hobbits are juuuuust isolationist enough that it's never become an issue before. Nobody to blame, just one of those things. Assumptions, man. See what Bilbo has to say about them, lols.

A sleep had done wonders, and Bilbo rose refreshed and determined well before his Dwarrows had risen, and so got on with helping Myrtle and Folstoph prepare the breakfast and teasing them gently about their progressing courtship and enduring his own due on the same topic, while he knocked back and kneaded bread, and worked his way through a warm bowl of porridge around starting a batch of cheese scones. 

Surprisingly, the first of his Dwarrow to stumble to the table for the first meal of the day, were the two youngest lads, Fíli slowly and sluggishly working one moustache braid back into place and Kíli barely able to open his sleepy, sleepy eyes.

"Goodness me," Bilbo sighed, setting his dippy egg and spoon aside to serve them a plate each, patting them gently when it looked like Kíli may go face forward into the bowl of porridge Myrtle popped in front of him on her way back to the kitchen. "Perhaps you lads should have slept a bit longer?" 

Kíli moaned long and miserable.

"Fíli is mean," he groaned.

"Couldn't be helped," Fíli yawned, slowly tearing a chunk of bread off a loaf and regarding the eggs in their delicate little cups dubiously. "Uncle was making noises about putting us through our paces today, and Dwalin and Óin threatened bad things if we didn't make ourselves scarce instead."

"What?" Bilbo asked, face scrunching in bewilderment.

"Óin doesn't want him doing any sword work for another day, until he can say with utmost certainty that his side won't be damaged again by it," Kíli said, eyes still mostly closed as he spooned porridge up. "We're to disappear before Thorin can get to us and make us work on our forms with him."

Bilbo regarded them seriously, poking the remains of his egg with his spoon thoughtfully.

"Yes, that seems wise. Is he... I mean, is he not well, yet, then?" he asked tentatively, heart sinking a little. He'd not even _thought_ to worry about Thorin's side much since, well, since they had arrived. He looked to be moving so well, Bilbo had not even thought of it, really, too busy contemplating his new courtship. 

He frowned and gnawed on a fingernail in worry, and Kíli _did_ pry at least one eyelid up then to smirk at him in tandem with his brother.

"He's doing well," was all Fíli said though, when Bilbo was sure there was to be teasing in response to his enquiry. "Dwarrow are as hardy and enduring as the stone, and we heal quickly. I believe his wounds do not even pain him at all anymore, but Óin and Dwalin are fussy old things, and they want him in peak condition before we leave this place." 

"He's had a lot worse," Kíli chimed in, rather unhelpfully, Bilbo thought, but he hummed and finished his egg and watched the boys slowly wake over their meal.

"Right then," he said decisively. "You'll be with me then, today."

"Wha...?" Kíli asked, confused.

"Even if Thorin comes looking for you, we shall convince him that I need your assistance with my own tasks," Bilbo told them, finishing his tea in one decisive pull.

Fíli licked his spoon one last time, and dropped it back onto his plate with a clink. 

"What exactly will we supposedly be doing for you, then?" he asked, flicking a bit of yolk from his beard, and reaching for the jam.

"You actually _will_ be helping me inventory and pack supplies for us for when we leave here," Bilbo said, buttering a large slab of bread and dropping a few blobs of raspberry jam on it for Kíli. "So finish your breakfast, there's lots to be done today."

The boys sighed in tandem, but complied, munching their way through sticky preserved-topped bread and dutifully slurping down the tea that Bilbo pointedly poured for them, and when movement came from down the hall, Bilbo hurriedly shooed them down the corridor and through the kitchen to drop their dishes into the soapy water waiting, and then down to the storage pantries.

"Great sodding sandstone!" Kíli swore from the bottom of the short set of stairs they had descended. "Look at all this, now!'

Bilbo glanced up from his rooting through a shelf for a charcoal to take notes, taking in the gawking of the lads turning in place to look about the room.

"Grains and preserves," he confirmed, nodding and returning to his search. "We'll start with this, and then move to the cold cellar. Uncle already made a map of all the viable forage sites for our route, but we'll go along and fetch us some apples and taters regardless from the produce barrels, eh?"

"You mean there's _more?_ " Kíli asked, incredulous, and then rolled his eyes when Bilbo looked at him. "Of course there's more. _Hobbits_. Right, what do we do?"

"That wall of preserves," Bilbo said, pointing. "They're all labelled. Anything that has more than five jars, pull one forward, so we can choose from them later."

The boys settled in easily enough, carefully checking over the jars in their neat little rows, and Bilbo could hear them muttering to each other over the contents of each jar as he carefully started to take note of what the storage room had plenty of and spare the Company, and what was running low, and noted each down for his Uncle to review later. 

They could definitely spare the oats. And ground rye. It would make a hardy coal-fire bread, at least.

"So, Bilbo," Fíli said, moving a jar forward and then, after examining the label more closely, shifted it back into place with an unapologetic grimace. "If you have questions about the courting, now would be a good time to ask them."

Bilbo almost dropped his charcoal, spinning and glaring at Fíli, eyes darting to Kíli meaningfully.

"No need to get worked up, Mr Boggins," Kíli said cheerfully, still turned away from him. "Fíli and I don't keep secrets from each other."

"I- Oh," Bilbo said, turning back to his inventory. 

Bugger it. 

Bread from wheat spoiled faster, but it wasn't as if this lot wouldn't eat it all quickly anyway, would it? He set about counting the flour bags carefully, checking for tears and traces of vermin getting into the bags, and smelling them each.

Not that Bilbo expected the stores to be anything less than perfect. Trust a Hobbit to know how to preserve food safely for the leaner months. Still, it was as well to take the time to do this job properly.

"I don't even know what to ask," he admitted after a bit. It was true. He didn't know what he, well, didn't know! "How am I doing so far?"

Fíli hummed, and Kíli turned and eyed him carefully.

"You're doing well," Fíli said, moving another jar forward. Bilbo was pleased to see many jars already moved forward, a sign of a well-stocked larder. "You give the impression of one uncertain in the beginning, but convinced over the long term of a sound bond to court upon."

"It's quite hilarious how you've managed to create the impression of this great romance for the stone-tales, all by accident," Kíli said, popping the lid on one of the jars and dipping his finger in for a taste, ignoring Bilbo's squawk of indignation. 

"You're doing fine," Fíli said, slapping his brother upside the head, though he abandoned his task to join Kíli at sampling the contents of the jar. "As far as the others are concerned, they mistook your initial hesitation as a decision not to pursue bonding, and then when, well, when you accepted Thorin, they decided that you were uneasy about the whole Dwarf/Hobbit thing, and also with how Thorin had reacted to your rejection."

"Easy assumption to make," Kíli butted in, and Fíli nodded to him.

"Right, Uncle was a complete dick about the whole thing. And then, when your not-cousin decided to go on about you desiring both Thorin and Dwalin, Glóin started yelling about Hobbits being like some of the tribes of Men, who need an elder relative to initiate all courting, and that's that. If any of them suspect anything else, they aren't saying."

"I can't believe all of you thought that I had just _rejected_ them, and didn't say anything," Bilbo huffed. Alright, so they hadn't really known each other then, but this all could have been cleared up much sooner if they had opened their mouths and been clear for once!

"Question your decision? Nobody would do that, Bilbo, it's just not done," Fíli said, stealing the jar from Kíli to get a good glob of the sweet preserve on his fingers to lick. 

"Yeah, I mean, some of the lads, myself included, were a bit miffed when you told Ori that you had no craft, back when we had just passed Bree. But then you asked Bofur why Ori thought you would be some sort of Smith or something, and we all figured that you thought Ori had meant _Dwarven_ craft, and you didn't seem to understand when anybody else tried to re-ask, so we gave up on that."

Bilbo tapped his charcoal against the parchment in annoyance for a moment, before he took a deep breath and dropped his tally sheet on a nearby shelf, dragging a bag of wheat around and seating himself neatly. It took another deep breath or two before he could stop glaring at Kíli, and even then....

Och. These damnable _Dwarrows_.

"Kíli," he said firmly, until the lad stopped flicking his brother in an attempt to get the jar back, and instead focused on Bilbo. "I have no blinking idea what you are talking about. This is what I mean! It's like the lot of you are incapable of stringing two coherent sentences together!"

"Ummm," Kíli said, blinking in confusion at his brother before turning back to Bilbo. "Your craft. It's fairly common to refuse to pursue a bond because of a devotion to a craft. We thought that was why you had rejected Dwalin and Thorin to begin with? It's the usual reason."

Bilbo blinked back.

"You mean... it's _normal_ for Dwarrows to reject your Heart Call?"

Fíli swallowed the lump of jam he'd tipped into his gob while eyeing Bilbo shrewdly.

"Let me guess. Hobbits are like the Men and the Elves in this. You think that bonding is the be all and end all of life? Your ultimate purpose to find the lost part of yourself, experience ultimate fulfilment and procreate with a wholesome lass to further the existence of your kind?"

"Well," Bilbo floundered, a little taken aback. "Not the end of all things, but most do... it's not a _bad_ thing!"

"Never said it was," Fíli said, looking far too amused, licking his fingers as if he hadn't a care. "Dwarves just aren't as in the dark to their purpose as most other races."

"Hobbits know _exactly_ what their purpose is, thank you very much," Bilbo said stiffly, reaching for the tally sheet again. Dwarrows. _Dwarrows!_

"Do they really?" Kíli asked, but Bilbo ignored them and got back to lining sacks up for the count.

Behind him, the lads held a furious debate in harshly whispered Khuzdul, but Bilbo was a fair way past his tolerance of deciphering idiot Dwarrow ways, so he continued to ignore them.

Fine, he was being more than a little snippy. He knew they had their ways and their traditions, all bundled up in a heavy layer of secrecy, and yes, they would let him in soon, but _goodness_ it was a trial. Who knew the cultural differences between them would be so.... _frustrating?_

Kíli dashed past him to the stairs, and Bilbo huffed. He absolutely didn't want to know what the buggers were up to this time.

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs closing firmly made him stop and look, and Kíli raced back down, tugging Bilbo over to huddle on the other side of the room.

"Right, hopefully nobody will come looking for us for a while," Fíli said, arranging them all.

"Er..." 

" _Technically_ you're supposed to have your clan adoption signed off before you're considered a Dwarrow, but Balin already spent a whole night going through a few drafts of your legalities with Glóin and Óin and Ori. And the Ur family have put together a declaration of intent to claim as kin. And while _technically_ , those legalities are supposed to be approved and formally sealed by Thorin, and witnessed by a two-third majority of his formal court-" 

"We're going to ignore that, since you're obviously ours already," Kíli interrupted his brother, grinning at Bilbo widely. 

"Obviously," Fíli nodded. "The problem we're having, it seems, is we often assume that you know a lot more than you do. Yes?"

" _Yes_ ," Bilbo sighed. It was so _frustrating_.

"Right," Fíli nodded. "So, best to treat you like a babe until we get caught up."

"Obviously, we'll not be able to cover all that much, but it's high time we get started _somewhere_ ," Kíli said. "So, I suggest we start with a quick overview of the creation of Dwarrow."

"Glóin told me some of that," Bilbo volunteered.

"He did?" Kíli asked, somewhat taken aback.

"Umm, well, some of it. Aüle made seven Dwarves, and then made them wives, and then, well, he wouldn't tell me where the people came from. But the sons of Durin became the first of the lord system that is used in your clan, and that is why he is now my Lord?"

The lads exchanged a long look, until Kíli shrugged.

"Well, if he knows that much..."

Fíli hummed.

"Alright then. So, let's go a little earlier, then, hmm? Many of our traditions are based in the details of how Dwarrow came to exist in this world. So, when the world was young, our Maker laboured under the instruction of great Eru in the construction of all that would be. However, he found his father's own labours of a children to inhabit this realm fascinating, so he began to experiment himself with the making of a people."

"What Aüle didn't realise," Kíli interupted with a great beaming grin, "was how much he would come to adore and cherish his creations."

"What started as an experiment became something more," Fíli said, nudging his brother. "His great passion of his own craft was imparted to his creations, bit by bit, and he found great joy in the teaching and sharing of his own task. His creations became dear to him, his very own children."

"Our tales tell us that it was his great love for us that compelled Eru Ilúvatar to spare the first Dwarrows, and bestow upon them the right of soul!" Kíli was near bouncing in his seat in excitement at this point, practically glowing.

Bilbo stared at the lad, half falling from his seat in happiness, and raised one disbelieving eyebrow at the elder of the pair. Honestly, he was just terribly surprised to find the young, excitable lad so interested in history. Fíli grinned.

"One thing a Dwarrow knows in the very heart of him, dearest Bilbo, is that the great song of the Universe was changed to include us, all because of the love of one being. Our Maker loves every last one of us unconditionally and wholeheartedly, Bilbo, and that makes us mighty."

Kíli was obviously disappointed in Bilbo's lack of enthusiasm, since he took Bilbo by the shoulders and very gently shook him.

" _Bilbo_ , you're a Dwarrow, be excited! Mahal walks beside you in all things!"

Who could resist a smile in the face of that youthful joy, Bilbo did not know. He grinned fondly at the lad and carefully patted him when the lad yanked him into an impromptu hug, releasing him in favour of tackling his brother the same way.

"I'm afraid this fellow is still a Hobbit, though, Kíli," Bilbo could not help but say, though he was sorry to dampen the lad's bright happiness.

"But you're not, are you?" Fíli said bluntly. "You were born the destined One of Dwarrow. Mahal allowed you to be born under the banner of another, but it wouldn't be possible if Mahal had not allowed it. And if he has allowed it, he regards you as his. Besides, Bilbo, Dwarrows recognise family of choice as just as valid as birth, in any manner. After all, great Eru took us as his own creations even though we were formed under the loving hand of another. Dwarrows understand family of acceptance to the soul of us." 

Kíli nodded along with Fíli's matter-of-fact declaration seriously, though Bilbo only sighed.

It wasn't as if it was hurting anyone for them to believe it so, was it? Perhaps it was. 

At times it was easy to forget that the rest of the world existed outside of their quest. Sometimes, he found himself forgetting that the Dwarrows he travelled with were only a baker’s dozen in tribes of _thousands_. It was when he remembered this little fact that he tended to feel, well. A little down? After all, it was lovely that The Company, his ridiculous lads, were all so certain that he was part of them now, but there was a very real possibility that when this quest was over, so too would be all these fanciful schemes of theirs. 

He shook that thought off. Dwalin and Thorin were Dwarrow that did not talk lightly of any matter. If they meant to court him, they were doing so with sincerity.

Brushing aside his suddenly melancholic thoughts, he nodded at the serious lads.

"Alright, one Hobbity-Dwarf, walking with Mahal. Continue."

"Uh huh," Fíli said, eyeing him as if he knew what thoughts had flown through Bilbo's head in those few seconds, but he continued regardless. "So, although we were permitted life, a harmony within the song of the universe, we were not meant to be the first to walk this land. And so, Eru commanded that our Maker put his children to sleep until his own children were awakened."

"I've read about that," Bilbo said. "Dwarrows did not awaken until well into the Years of the Trees, I think?"

Fíli hummed, and tilted his head at Kíli, who was fair bursting from his seat in his excitement, nodding at his younger to take over.

"Oh, but while the Dwarrow fathers slept, Bilbo, that's the really interesting thing. Our Maker did as commanded, and set our Fathers to sleep, but he did not leave it at that. Half the reason he created us was so he could share his joy in creation with others, and he couldn't not continue with that. He _whispered_ , Bilbo, he whispered to our Firsts all his secrets, all the wonder of his craft, whispered through the stone to where they slept and inflamed their very beings with knowledge of his work. And we carry that, even now, all those aeons later!" 

"Carry what?" Bilbo asked blankly. 

" _All_ of it, Bilbo. We know _everything_. Look, you said before, that Glóin wouldn't tell you where the people came from? Durin made the people," Fíli said matter-of-factly, and Kíli beamed and bounced in place.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said. "But I don't think I understood you correctly."

"Durin made the first of the Sigintarâg, the Longbeards. And Úri made the first of his people and they were Firebeards, and Druin made the Blacklocks. The Fathers came from the stone knowing _all_ the secrets of the Maker, and they used that knowledge to craft the first Dwarrows from their own hands at his command, shaping the bodies as Mahal shaped the souls, imparting the wisdom granted from the Maker into every Dwarrow to emerge from the stone. We all carry the secrets of our Maker within us. His whispers echo to us even to this day within the mountains we call our homes, carried to us within the rock."

Bilbo stared at them a long time, debating it over in his mind.

"Do you mean, instinctually, you know all there is for any Dwarf to know? What's the point, then?" Bilbo asked, tone somewhat flat. He was fairly sure, if they insisted it was so, that they were fibbing to him. "What's the point in learning and continuing on with your craft, if you know _everything?_ "

"Bilbo, _honestly_ ," Kíli huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Just how many books have you sat and read in that little smial of yours over the years? Tell me, did any cookbook ever fill your nose with the scent of roasted meat, delight you with the taste of a biscuit on your tongue, let you see the exact golden hue of the perfectly baked crust of a pie, or hear the sizzle of butter in a pan? Can you tell me what the wind was like on the day of any of those battles you read about in your history books? All those poems, tell me, did any of the poets have a lisp? What about inflection, was there-"

"Yes, alright," Bilbo interrupted, glaring just as fiercely at the lad. "So 'everything' is a small exaggeration then?"

Fíli shrugged.

"There is dry fact, and there is the intricacies of experience. Mahal blesses us with his knowledge and insight, but truly knowing and understanding, is _doing_. One cannot truly understand the intricacies of smithying until they've laboured at the anvil. No matter how much is instinctual." 

"And besides, who says the Maker knows everything now? There is always something new, and we can strive to discover new things every single day to share with the one that shared so much with us!" Kíli cheered, and Fíli patted his shoulder with a sort of fond amusement.

Bilbo could only rub tiredly at his eyes. Honestly. What these pillocks did to him.

"Alright," Bilbo said, refusing to argue with them. He wasn't exactly sure they weren't pulling his leg now, but he'd give them the benefit of the doubt.

"Now, to tie that in with what we were talking about before. Why we don't believe that finding and marrying a One is the greatest thing a Dwarrow can achieve in life.

"Every Dwarrow is perfect."

Bilbo stared at Fíli and Kíli's very serious expressions.

"No, we are," Kíli insisted, when it became apparent that Bilbo's expression held a fair amount of scepticism. "You have to understand, we _know_ that Mahal creates each single Dwarrow _exactly_ the way he wants each and every one of us, and his love for each of us knows no bounds."

"We have noticed that Men have standards of beauty," Fíli chimed in. "Some are considered attractive, and some are not, and it always does not make sense to a Dwarrow, because every single Dwarrow alive is _gorgeous_."

Bilbo's mouth opened and then closed again, and a strange little noise made its way from his throat. 

"Is a bulbous nose more attractive than a pointy beak of a nose? Well, both were sculpted by the hand of Mahal to perfectly go with whatever else he sticks on that face, and that makes it the perfect face for that person, doesn't it? We don't keep societal expectations like that, because we know right to the bone that Mahal thinks us physically perfect," Fíli said, matter of factly, leaning back in satisfaction. "I am a fine stud of a Dwarf, and so is every other Dwarf I know. We are one damn sexy race." 

"And on top of that," Kíli cheered, "Mahal carves the perfect soul for us, so everything that we are, everything we are meant to be, is as it supposed to be! Be who you are, Bilbo, because you are exactly as Mahal intended! Beautiful through and through."

"Some of us have Ones, and some of us do not, and some have more than a single One. None of this is better than the circumstances of anybody else. Some love their Ones as a dear friend, some can only find great love in their hearts for their craft, and some have no urge to experience physical love. Every single Dwarrow is exactly as they should be, and every single one of us can do nothing but strive to be the best of what we have to offer. Show off what Mahal made us as. We have the potential to be _perfect_ , Bilbo. There is no envy in Dwarrows, uncle Bilbo, for things another Dwarrow has, only the drive to discover talents and greatness that we are capable of."

Bilbo eyed the lads suspiciously as he sat and tried to wrap his head around what they were saying. They seemed sincere, but, well.... every society had to have some sort of standards of attractiveness, surely?

(Not that he'd... alright, so he _had_ worried a little. A teensy amount. Bilbo was a fine specimen of Hobbit, if a bit on the 'fine boned' side for his kind, and of average height for his kind, really, but his lovely thickly furred feet with their golden pelt were more than enough to make up for that, and he maintained a healthy, attractive paunch. But he hadn't been entirely sure whether he'd really measure up when it came to being the beloved of a Dwarf. Or two. That was perfectly reasonable worry to have, in the circumstances.) 

"There are dozens of tales of Dwarves driven by greed for the possessions of others, and wars caused by them," he said in a fit of churlishness, but regretted it instantly, when their faces fell and closed a little, hurt dashing across Kíli's face.

"And all written by Elves," Fíli said stiffy, "and tell not near anything close to the stories as Dwarves know them."

"I'm sorry, that was a terrible thing to say," Bilbo said, but Kíli waved off the apology. 

"There are the occasional Dwarves that lose sight of their purpose, or fall to corruption. Misunderstandings between cultures. Sometimes things happen. Uncle always told us that history was written by the victorious, though."

He... had a point there. Elves rarely wrote themselves as the villains in any story. Men and Hobbits did much the same, he supposed, and, all right, that did make a fair amount of sense. It was foolish to judge an entire race through the eyes of another race's biases.

The perfection thing though...

"All right," Bilbo said finally. Really, they were so certain of what they were telling him, and who was he to refuse to acknowledge their cultural history as they knew it? After all, as outlandish as some of that sounded to Bilbo, the lads seemed to fully believe what they said, and perhaps it was that way for Dwarrows. Who was Bilbo to judge?

Well. He was quite capable of judging _everyone_ in his general vicinity, but he just really was too tired to do so right now.

And baffled. Honestly, baffled.

So he went back to his tally sheets. The lads seemed content to let him sit and scribble, processing what they had told him, and were even sitting still and silent for a bit for him, which drove Bilbo mad with the oddness of it, so he fetched an empty crate for them and set them to pulling down some jars to store for transport, marking his sheet absently as he thought.

Really. Dwarves as perfect?

It was certainly arrogant enough to fit their personalities; that was for sure.

Though, if he thought about it, it would be difficult _not_ to be arrogant buggers, being raised to believe that you were not lacking in any way, shape or form. And really, now that he thought about it, it really wasn't hard for him to look back and understand much of their attitudes before. The swollen-headed gits really did think they were better than second breakfast, didn't they?

"What's the point, then?" he muttered to himself again, adding another column. "Really, no, what's the point?" he shouted at them, suddenly furious. "If you're _perfect_ , why not stay at home and lounge about being _perfect_? Why do anything?"

"I thought you were smarter than this," Kíli said sharply, and that was enough to pull Bilbo from his snit, if anything. Kíli was never cold to Bilbo. "I was born with a love of archery, and a talent for assembling fine jewellery. If I do nothing with that, all that does is leave me as a fan of bow-makers, and a passably good jeweller. It is an _insult_ to Mahal to take that which he has woven into the souls of us and _squander_ it. I can do no less than take my loves and my talents and pour my devotion into being the very, very best at what I love that I can."

"Kíli," Bilbo started, quite taken aback by the stern disapproval turned his way.

"I was born a prince of the line of Durin, and that means Mahal has _plans_ for me, Bilbo. I cannot question his will, only work to _know_ myself, and my worth, and do the best I can, every day, to be the very best version of myself there is."

"I'm sorr-"

"Do you think we walk all the way across Middle Earth to squander all that has been handed to us? Uncle cannot be the king he is meant to be; our people are diminished, in every way, every day; they die pointlessly and too soon, and their ability to further themselves as Mahal intended is all but gone. Our connection with our Maker dies and crumbles, and the world grows cold and less full, every day, and soon, we will be little better than the Men, aimless and dull and petty, without purpose. This is the _only hope of our people-_ "

"That's enough, Kíli," Fíli said, tugging him back, leaving Bilbo wide eyed and mind racing.

"I thought you just needed the gold," Bilbo said dully, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself involved in.

"If nothing else, gold will feed us," Fíli said tiredly, shoving Kíli away to calm himself. "The Arkenstone may rally our allies, but ultimately, if Smaug keeps the only home we have left to us, then the Western Dwarrow have little left to hope."

"But-"

"The Blue Mountains can no longer support us, Bilbo. Tumunzahar is lost to the sea, sweeping in under the mountain below, and Gabilgathol, the remnant of the City of the Broadbeams of old, where we make our home now, is mostly unstable. Our connection with Mahal fades every day as the rock cracks and falls to sea beneath us, and we can find fewer and fewer places to perform sacred ceremonies. Babes are rarer than ever, a total of eight babes borne to the entire settlement in the last twenty years, and more and more dwarves age earlier than their times. We are _dying_ in that place, and other options must be considered."

"You hired me to burgle gold, and perhaps find the pretty rock," Bilbo said weakly, and Fíli nodded.

"Yes. If we can find the funds, we can pay tithes to other mountain nations for land, or at least work, or access to sacred temples, to reconnect with Mahal. The Arkenstone would at least help cement Uncle's authority enough that he could strong arm them into taking many of us without much in the way of monies, if we failed to bring with us anything else of value, especially if they bargain to inherit it. If we find the mountain without Smaug, all the better, and we can finally resettle. There aren't many other options available to us, Bilbo. There are very few mountain ranges, and none without Dwarrow or undefeatable evil within them already."

"So... so what you are saying is. That it all depends on me," Bilbo said, staring down at the tally sheet clutched between his clenched hands.

Nothing but silence met his statement for a long, long moment, before Kíli's boots appeared on the edge of his vision, and the lad squatted low in front of him.

"Not really, don't think like that. We have a few other options. If nothing else, our cousin is King of the Iron Hills. They have no rich seams of gold or precious stones, but the iron production is lucrative. He's taken the bulk of the Ereborian refugees over the years regardless, but their space is still limited. He'd never turn away dwarflings, though, so if the worst comes, and we fail and die on this quest, there will be a future for at least the next generation. We are not completely without hope."

Bilbo gazed at him hopelessly, and Kíli grinned that terrible cheeky grin of his.

"I'm sorry I got mad at you, Bilbo. You didn't know. Everything will work out, though, I promise you, Bilbo!"

"How can you..." Bilbo trailed off, feeling very very small, all of a sudden. "How can you be so... _optimistic_ about all of this?"

"I am what I am," Kíli said cheerfully, "and if my mind can find a spark of hope amongst even the most dire of situations, it is something I am meant to think. Can’t sensor my own thoughts, can I?" 

"Be the best you that you can be," Bilbo murmured, and Kíli thumped an enthusiastic slap across his back.

"Now you're getting it!"

"I'm sorry I yelled," Bilbo said. "But, no. I'm not getting it. I'm not sorry I questioned. I don't understand, Kíli. I don't."

"And we might not be the best teachers," Fíli sighed, laying a restraining hand on Kíli's shoulder when he opened his mouth, face stricken. "We've had sixty years of lessons to grasp some subtle sort of concepts, and as clever as you are, we cannot expect you to grasp what we can barely convey with half-cocked answers told in a single morning."

"I-" Kíli started, eyes wide and wounded, and Bilbo shook his head to halt whatever it was he might say.

It was not that Bilbo thought Kíli meant to bully him into understanding, but Bilbo had spent enough time with them that he tended to give in and accept what they said to him without question, these days. Really. Bilbo wanted to understand them, he did, but there was just too much, and he'd not the head for it, with all that was happening. 

"Rísta would explain better," Fíli said, swiping a weary hand over his face and looking far too old in that moment. "We're buggering it up."

"I know you mean to help," Bilbo said. "There's a lot of misunderstandings between us, I think. And we won't solve them in a single morning. Not without discovering -and creating, it seems- a lot more misunderstandings in the meantime."

Neither of the boys said anything for a long moment, both troubled and silent, Kíli still shamefaced and woebegone, and Bilbo shrugged and waited. Really, his reserve of emotion was spent, and he felt a little silly at becoming so worked up over what they were trying to tell him. They were quite right; they were still just two young lads, and what they were speaking of was not something that Bilbo could trust was the whole and complete view of a complex cultural issue. It was foolish of him to take his lack of understanding and lash out at them when they sincerely were trying to help.

"We should be getting back to this," Fíli said suddenly, herding himself and Kíli both over to the crate, and knocking Bilbo's tally sheet with a jar until he started to note what they were packing again. Bilbo did not consider himself a dense sort of fellow -despite remaining oblivious to pining Dwarves for several months, thank you very much- and was well aware that Fíli was both trying to provide him a little space to process all they had told him, and diffuse what had become quite an uncomfortable situation- one that had not gone the way Fíli had intended at all, Bilbo would guess. It was a sound plan, and Bilbo was only too willing to embrace it, directing the boys through packing enough preserves to fill out what meals they would be preparing on the next leg of their journey, and then setting them to help him with a set of scales and some smaller sacks, to portion out bags of grains for him to sew shut and distribute amongst them to carry.

Fíli and Kíli were quiet for a while, and when it became apparent that Bilbo really had nothing more to say on the subject, started a light hearted argument about who would win in a fight- the subjects of the discussion names that Bilbo was unfamiliar with, and not curious enough to ask after at this stage.

No, with the overload of new things to think on, he was content to let them argue advantages and disadvantages of nakedness and magic axes, or some such drivel, in what seemed to be a fantasy battle between two dead heroes, he was assuming. He had other things to think on, and work to be done.

With sacks and crates packed and piled near the stairs he urged them down another set of stairs, taking them lower, rubbing at his arms with the chill of the lower levels. The very lowest levels of the larders were stocked with ice in the winter time, and it kept well this deep in the earth, kept cold and preserved by the dark, cool earth.

Bilbo mostly ignored the lads as he perused the meat selections, separating out the eldest of the preserved meats and being careful not to take too much for the Company. He wouldn't leave his kin short when they were quite capable of setting snares at night for meat, and Kíli had kept them well stocked their journey so far with his bow. Bifur was quite the hunter himself, and had brought back a few wild pigs and young deer for dinners in the course of their journey.

The lads disappeared some time while he was choosing waxed cheeses and writing out all that he had taken for his uncle's stocktaking, and packing all that he was taking into his sacks. Fili had mentioned something about collecting a few more jars of piccalilli to go with the salted meat, and Kili had asked if there would be room for some of those pickled onions that he loved so much to enjoy with the circle of smoked cheese Bilbo had selected. He had noted their choices and sent them to collect only the jars to which he had agreed and they had scurried off. But this had been some time ago and they had not returned.

He found the two wicked boys along in the next room, helping themselves to what seemed to be early season apples, judging by the crisp, new smell, and the juicy crunch he could hear from their snacking. Again, he mostly ignored them and their chatter, occupying his mind with the mundanity of his task.

Eventually, he tuned back into their chatter, feeling quite calmer for the simplicity of the housekeeping, and listened to their speculation of how the folk they had left behind in the Blue Mountains might be faring.

"I wonder if Brur's managed to master the five rites of purification, yet," Kíli wondered, sprawled back against a sack in the corner, and Bilbo made himself a note to be sure to pack a nice large parcel of tea, and a good barrel of Old Toby, while he was at it, in fact.

"Rísta was adamant he learn by the start of 'af'iz, and you know how she gets about these things," Fíli said idly, poking at a hanging bundle of dried sage with curiosity. "And after your little incident with the bucket and the iron ore last time-"

"That really wasn't my fault," Kíli objected petulantly. "If Xís hadn't stolen my socks, and really, Uncle Dwalin should have _knocked_ -"

Fíli started snickering.

"I can't believe Adad made me clean the whole stable," Kíli continued mournfully, and Fíli's quiet sniggers turned into something deeper, curling over his belly at the memory. "Stop laughing, Fí, da's not let me near another of his hatchet's since then-"

Bilbo must have made a startled noise, since the two focused abruptly on him, and he stared.

"Something wrong, Bilbo?"

"Uh... no. No, everything is fine," he said, turning back to his sheet with a wince.

Silence behind him for all of thirty seconds before they were whispering quickly, and Fíli cleared his throat harshly.

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo made a harrumphing sort of noise that he was hoping would be suitable discouragement. He had an awful feeling he was about to be terribly embarrassed.

" _Bil_ bo-"

"Really, it's nothing, I've just might have made a slight error, that's all."

"Bilbo," Fíli sighed, and _poked_ him, the little blighter, and continued to do so while chanting his name until Bilbo flapped his hands and called mercy.

"Really boys, you're just awful, all I-"

"Spit it out, Bilbo," Fíli said with great exasperation, and Bilbo sighed.

"Oh, it's just... You just mentioned your father? I thought..." 

"What?" Kíli asked around his large bite of apple.

"Well, forgive me. But I thought that your father was passed."

"Past what?" Kíli asked, and Fíli rolled his eyes and thumped him on the back of the head.

"Dead, idiot."

"Da's not dead," Kíli said, frowning at Bilbo like _he_ was the idiot, and perhaps he was. "Why would you think that?"

"I... don't know," Bilbo admitted. "I seem to have assumed, though I cannot think what has made me think it so, now."

"Well, you know what they say about assumptions," Kíli said with a wicked grin.

"Assumptions are the staple choice of the life of the fool?"

Kíli stared at him a moment.

"Not... exactly what I was going to say."

Bilbo hummed suspiciously, but plonked a sack into Kíli's lap and pointed towards the door. 

"Pile that with the rest, and I think I've plundered the larders as well as any Dwarf- though, I've not left the shelves bare, so perhaps I've a ways to go with that." The lads snickered in delight at that, and he waved them towards the door. "You may help me to move everything I've set aside to the upper pantries, and then we shall see if the morning's tea has been laid out yet, and help with the preparations if it has not, yes?"

The lads grinned at him, and then had the _gall_ to each lean forward to plant a wet, loud, whiskery kiss on his cheek, sandwiching his face between their own, before dashing off to heft the bags and cartons over their shoulders and scamper off up the stairs in the wake of his indignant holler.

 _Horrible_ creatures.

****

By the afternoon, Bilbo had fair had enough of other people. By the time he had convinced the lads that they had not packed too much food, and showed them the little hand carts that Hobbits used in such situations, and stored everything away, put the lads to work in the kitchen, and went over the inventory checks with his Uncle, he was exhausted. 

Not so much an exhaustion of the body, but an exhaustion of the mind, rather.

It was a lot to take in, after all. And really, taking a step back and thinking about it rationally, Bilbo was fairly certain he should get a second opinion of all that the lads had told him. Not that he thought they were being dishonest with him, but they truly were young and enthusiastic and were probably attempting to 'sell' their culture to him somewhat, and someone else might have a different perspective on the whole 'perfection' part of the Dwarrow philosophy that just plain _bothered_ Bilbo, in a way that he didn't even himself understand.

First and foremost, as in any list of chores to be accomplished (most especially when one was feeling as wrung out as Bilbo was now), was the old Hobbit standby- a cup of tea, a scone, and a nap.

An hour or two of solitude, napping, and quiet contemplation, Bilbo decided that he didn't really need to believe everything that the Dwarrow believed in, at all. He only had to accept that _they_ believed it, and respect their right to think such. If they were right, then they were, and if they were wrong, there was not much he could do on that front. Bilbo's main concern at this time, was getting his lot of clotheads to a distant mountain to fight a dragon. And contemplate a courtship with two of said clotheads, to boot. 

He'd have to seek further information on their belief systems at some stage; after all, if he was to complete a courtship with the King and King Consort, he'd be actually living with these gits for a fairly long time, if he had any say in things, and he'd have to at least be capable of accepting to believe that they believed.

Hobbits had a vastly different way of thinking about such things.

But really, at this stage of things, Bilbo really just wanted to focus on his brand new, shiny romance, cultural differences be buggered. He was being _courted_. 

So, he took himself off to find a spot of tea and something to nibble, and let himself be pulled into a gossiping session in the kitchens while helping with the dinner preparations, basking in the glow of the teasing of fellow Hobbits while he peeled taters and cut carrots and stirred casseroles. 

Now, Bilbo had always felt at home in the Shire, of course he had, all his life. He'd had wonderful family tucked away in all corners of the Shire, good friends, a lovely home (if a bit quiet and hollow these days) with a warm hearth, full pantries, bountiful estates with excellent employees, many visitors and invitations to enjoy, and many a calm night of peace and reading after good, fulfilling days. 

He'd run out his door at the vague promise of adventure, though, and the chance to bask in the sharp heat he'd felt at the sight of two of the Company's burly warriors, and he'd not regretted that, not even when he thought he'd never be warm again, not when he'd been so angry he could scream and never stop, not when he was so frightened he thought he would die. Not even when Thorin all but told him to leave.

Bilbo had not regretted his journey, oh no. But it was so very lovely to be amongst Hobbits once again.

It was the reason he seated himself amongst his Took cousins for dinner, and he absolutely wasn't ignoring any of his Dwarrow, no matter how much he focused on the delight of exchanging barbs while defending the honour of South Tooks and ignored the whispered interrogation of the lads that was taking place amongst the somewhat subdued Dwarrow.

Not everything was about them.

Still, he followed his cousins off to play a round of a rather ridiculous card game with them for an hour or two, over much childish giggling and speculation over Bilbo's future with such 'big' spouses, which ended when he threw the deck at Farabert and was tackled by the lot of his stupid relatives for his trouble. He soon pleaded exhaustion, and being that Bilbo and his Dwarrow had to be under way soon enough, they let him make his excuses and slip off to his room at a reasonable time of eve.

Bilbo found, though, that he really wasn't tired enough to sleep just yet. Or, he was, but he was fidgety and restless, and a little bit cranky, despite having a nice time with his relatives. So after his bath, Bilbo redressed, and wandered back down the halls.

He'd only meant to pick up the book Haldobras had recommended from the bookcase in the sitting room, but found the Company sprawled around in various states of relaxation, enjoying the comforts of a warm hearth and quiet peace before they departed, and, well. Thorin and Dwalin were talking quietly to the side, leaning against a side table that Bilbo had to pass by, and he'd just, well, happened to notice. 

The braids.

Of course, he had noticed. Since Hildifons had gone on about them all being 'kin of his kin' and all that, and what with the feeding and the ale drinking and the comfort and respite offered freely, all his Dwarrows had settled in, and Bilbo had noticed that they had dressed a little differently, what with actually bathing and cleaning their clothing and leaving their armour off more often, and, well, braiding and primping a lot more than what they had on the road. Thorin had a few nice new braids in his hair, and Bilbo certainly appreciated those, but the one that caught his attention most, was Dwalin.

He had braids. Just a few. But there was one. Just, that one. Running right down the middle of his beard, where normally it forked.

It was enough to have him lurching to a stop in front of his beloveds in a most ungainly way.

"That's new," Bilbo blurted, and then blushed brightly, when Thorin and Dwalin both stopped and stared at him. 

He shocked himself further, when he could not help reaching out hesitant fingers to run gently down the braid running down the middle of that great bushy beard, and then tug it gently.

Dwalin turned a brilliant, bright red, and one of the Dwarrows behind Bilbo choked.

"Um..." Bilbo gulped, taking a step backwards. "It's- I like it, them, you, er... very nice. Yes."

Thorin's eyes were bright and watching him avidly, and Bilbo bustled over to the bookshelf and busied himself looking for the book in question, ignoring Nori's quiet chortling.

"A walk!" Dwalin half roared after a second, and Bilbo jumped what felt like a mile, clutching his chest, and looking to Dwalin with wide eyes, Dwalin who was still a bright vibrant red, and Thorin who looked like he very much wanted to laugh as hard as many of the Dwarrow present seemed to be doing at that outburst.

"Pardon?" Bilbo asked, bewildered.

Dwalin seemed to blush even harder, and toed the floor.

"Er, I was going to ask you, to, well... Buggerlugs here is restless, and I thought I could take him for a short walk, but we might get lost? Because of the Hobbity thing. You will come with us. _Could_ come with us. Please!" he blurted, looking almost purple with the force of the blood rushing to his face. Thorin was carefully blank faced and inspecting the ceiling carefully, and Bilbo was becoming aware enough of their idiosyncrocies that he knew that Thorin was only just barely reigning in his amusement. 

"I... could do that," Bilbo said, feeling himself relax all of a sudden, affection leaving him relieved from tension he hadn't known he was carrying. Dwalin's answering relief was a visible thing also, and he grinned at Bilbo, face still pink. Thorin was smiling, ruefully affectionate, at the back of Dwalin's head, and Bilbo just could not understand how he'd ever thought the two of them cold, he really couldn't.

"Now?" Dwalin asked, gesturing vaguely, and Bilbo nodded and abandoned his book, and let Dwalin offer his arm, slipping his hand instead into Dwalin's big paw, earning himself Dwalin's beaming smile.

Thorin stepped up beside him and took his other hand, and shared a pleased grin with him as well before they headed to the door.

Where Bifur stood, looking menacing with his arms crossed across his chest, scowling fiercely. Bofur and Bombur stepped up beside him, looking equally as forbidding, and Bilbo stared.

"Only what he expressly asks for," Bombur said, low and careful, gesturing in a vaguely ominous way.

Bifur said something that was one long incomprehensible string of oddly shaped syllables that obviously meant something Bilbo really didn't want to know about, since one of the Dwarrow behind him choked in an odd way, and even Bombur and Bofur looked shocked for a second before they resumed their fierce scowls.

"Just walking," Thorin promised, eyes wide and perhaps a little fearful, and Dwalin nodded fervently. 

"Don't forget," Bofur said, and tugged Bifur out of the way, and Dwalin and Thorin all but carried Bilbo from the room and along the hall to the stairway leading up and out.

"Your brothers are mean," Dwalin said consideringly, suddenly looking delighted, and Bilbo rolled his eyes and tugged them up out the door.

The moon was out, and the sky was clear of storms, with just a hint of briskness to the gentle breeze, and Bilbo breathed deep and tugged them further out into the woods, toes digging into the moss and loam, a great heaving sigh of relief escaping before he could even think whether to hold it back. His walking companions did not seem to find it to strange, though, and he sighed happily again, and tugged them along the route that he had followed away from the Smial on his Ceili. 

They would not walk far.

"I had a good run, the other night," he told them idly, after a few minutes of quiet walking, simply enjoying each other's company.

"I'm glad," Dwalin rumbled, squeezing his hand gently.

"It is quite lovely here," Thorin said. "I can see why your people were happy here for so long."

Bilbo hummed, letting his head fall back to take in the sky and the stars and the gently swaying branches, dark against the gentle glow of the night sky, and let the other two lead him, trusting them to keep him steady.

"I found Oaks, the other night," he laughed, all of a sudden. "They had many tales of Dwarrow."

Bilbo could see them both looking at him in curiosity, and he laughed again. 

"By the sound of it, I'm not the first Hobbit to be seduced away by the stone people," he teased, and laughed again when they looked amazed.

"The trees here... they remember that?" Dwalin asked. 

"A few of them, I think, are old enough. Some might be offspring," he mused. "Trees, plants, in general, they don't really produce offspring like we do. It's more along the lines of producing a viable clone -or a slight improvement- to continue the species, than anything any of the free races do to reproduce, and their memory is sort of genetic. As much of a memory as trees potentially have."

Thorin halted them, eyeing him queerly.

"You might have to explain that one, ghivashel," he said, after a moment of shared bafflement with Dwalin. "I believe we both have no idea what you could mean by potential memory of a tree."

Bilbo hummed at the unfamiliar name and resolved to ask them of it later, but let it go for the moment and tugged them to walk down a short slope to a small glade, and pushed them to sit on a low, mossy rock formation for a moment, propping himself on a rock close enough to press his knees to their own.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," he said, and yawned. The night truly was lovely, and it was so very nice to be doing something so completely normal, by Hobbit standards, as taking a moonlit stroll with the ones he was courting.

"It's actually not that complicated. Actually, no, it is, it's actually a topic of quite serious debate, even after centuries of deliberating. We just don't know, though."

"Know what?" Dwalin asked, slipping down off his rock to rest more against Thorin's knees, close enough to Bilbo's leg that he could rest against it also, and wrap his hand around Bilbo's thigh. Thorin's hands almost instantly wove across his bald scalp, stroking affectionately, and Dwalin arched like a rather large, scarred kitty, all but purring in contentment.

"Trees don't really think anything like a person does. Why would they? Trees are trees, after all. What Hobbits have never worked out, is if Trees think at _all_."

Thorin paused in his tracing of one of Dwalin's tattoos to frown at him quizzically.

"Surely their memory of a long past time would be proof of thought?" Thorin said.

"Not really," Bilbo sighed, stroking his fingers along the thick ones wrapped around his thigh. It was really the most inappropriate time, but Bilbo really did find the way that whole hand could almost wrap around his whole thigh quite... thrilling.

"You see, the only way to communicate with the land, the plants, the trees around us, is to share with them. And to share of ourselves, is to share, well, _us_. What we are, part of ourselves. Communicating with something new is always a little.... difficult. Alien. It takes a while for communication to make sense with something that has only just been touched by a Hobbit, until we learn each other. We've never worked out whether that is because a tree thinks so differently to a person, or because they don't think at all and they learn to think simply by what we share."

"Ents are trees. And they talk to other trees," Dwalin said, fingers kneading at Bilbo's thigh, and Bilbo could see that Dwalin had picked up his fascination with the big hand, by the cunning little twinkle in those eyes. Oh, his giant love was a smart fellow.

"I've personally never met an Ent, but for all I know, they were made with the same magic as ourselves, and do the same as we do: teach the trees to communicate. Or Ents, being trees themselves, think as trees think, and learnt to speak as people do also. I don't know. I've never met a tree herded by Ents, or met an Ent at all. Perhaps they could tell us once and for all, and put the argument to rest. Of course, then there would be precious little else for Hobbits to get worked up over when bored and needing to throw things and yell a bit."

Thorin snorted, and shot him a look that was pure amused adoration, and Bilbo felt himself all but glow. "Hobbits are such odd creatures," Thorin said, voice warm and low and soft, and Bilbo shivered again.

"Not so odd," he half-heartedly murmured in protest, and shivered again when Dwalin hummed in a very low, rough way that was decidedly wicked sounding, and Thorin grinned, all teeth, equally suggestive.

"In the very best of ways, dear one," Thorin promised, but despite looks from both of them that were almost predatory, they made no move to shift any further towards him, and Bilbo wondered whether he should thank or curse his brothers for their part in that.

"I'm sorry," he found himself blurting, and then instantly regretting it, when they both seemed so puzzled. "I know that none of this courtship can have been easy on either of you, and you're both being quite patient, while I'm still floundering around, sending you some very mixed signals, I should think. I am sorry, that I have caused it to be so hard on you both."

"Bilbo," Dwalin said, almost reproachfully, but Thorin interrupted him with a grunt and a sharp gesture, and a long, regretful sigh.

"You have not made it any more difficult than we have. I have not behaved well, this past few months, Bilbo. I meant it. I have behaved most dishonourably for the entire course of our acquaintance, and I mean to prove that I do indeed hold honour enough to earn the place at your side that you have afforded me."

Dwalin snorted and shifted uncomfortably, and smacked at Thorin's hand when Thorin poked him reproachfully.

"Bit sick of you takin' the burden of that all on yourself, love," he growled, looking morose. "I didn't help none, in any of this, did I? Just sulked for three months."

As much as Bilbo was pleased to finally be hearing honest accounts of the thinking of the two dwarves he loved so dearly, after so long being so very stumped by them both, he really had not intended for their evening to be marred by unpleasantness, especially as he so wanted them all to be past this.

So he squeezed their hands both, and grinned at them ruefully and hoped they would see his sincerity.

"It doesn't matter anymore, really. I think I've seen the true measure of both the Dwarrow I intend to marry one day." He let that sink in for a minute, watching them both look so hopeful at that pronouncement. "Besides, it can't have been easy, being presented with, well. A Hobbit. It must have been somewhat... underwhelming, after expecting to encounter a Dwarrow one day."

"Not at all," Dwalin said, near spluttering. "You're beautiful! Your race was nothing in the face of what you would be to us. Tell him, Thorin." 

Thorin said nothing for a second, hesitating just long enough for Dwalin's face to morph to confused impatience as he twisted to look full at Thorin.

"Thorin, tell him. Being a Hobbit never really mattered."

"I..." Thorin shifted restlessly, and slumped a little, avoiding Dwalin's eye. "I did say this the other day. I told you, I did question how it could be so that you were not Dwarf. I indeed resented your race greatly, on our first meeting, and for quite a time after."

Bilbo knew that, he'd always known that, even before Thorin had said it during his rather confusing -at the time- apology just days before, but hearing it now that he understood the relationship between them better, well, it did sting. He buried that deep for the moment, though, because Dwalin looked as if Thorin had just kicked him.

"No, but that, you were a surprised at first, but you told me yourself how attractive you found him. You agreed with me that he was beautiful."

"I did," Thorin sighed, and took Dwalin's hand, holding it so gently. "Just because I thought him beautiful did not mean that I wasn't resentful that he wasn't a Dwarf." He shrugged and shifted when Dwalin simply stared at him. "You were already so hurt that Bilbo had not acknowledged us as potential mates, I did not want to hurt you further with my own misgivings."

Dwalin stared at him for a long time, before he sighed and looked pleadingly at Bilbo. 

"Do you see what we have to contend with, love?" he asked Bilbo, his sigh one of long suffering, tugging Thorin down forcefully to all but sit in Dwalin's lap, wrapping him tight and resting his forehead against Thorin's.

"What, hiding things that bother him so they don't bother us? I'm beginning to see that," Bilbo admitted, sliding down himself to perch on Dwalin's spare thigh, the three of them packed in tight on the forest floor, between the rock formations, not that Bilbo was complaining. It was rather cosy. "Bit of a self-sacrificing git, isn't he?"

"Always," Dwalin snorted, while Thorin made a sound that was quite distressed and infinitely frustrated.

"Why are you not angrier?" Thorin asked Bilbo. "I have admitted deep resentment for you, knowing that you were my One, and you do not seem angry at all!"

Bilbo shrugged. It was hard to put into words, really.

"I already knew that you did not like me," he said, not really meaning anything by it, but Thorin looked terribly sad. "I understand. I know that Hobbits are not near as, well, perfect, as Dwarrow," he said, and mentally slapped himself for that bit of bitterness that crept into his voice, and hastened on when both seemed startled at his wording. "I'm not what you expected, and it has made things difficult for a Dwarf of your esteem, I am sure."

"You understand nothing," Thorin said, brow knitted, though his voice was gentle and not reproachful at all. 

"Explain it, then," Dwalin prodded gently, and Thorin frowned, and almost looked as though he would shake his head and refuse, but then he slumped a little, and took a breath, and let himself lean into Dwalin. His gaze went past them, staring into the night, frowning all the more deeply, and Bilbo and Dwalin let him think a minute, merely curling closer to him as it became apparent that Thorin was to reveal something he never intended to. 

Never intended to, but _was_ , in an effort to be honest and open with Bilbo, to prove himself honourable, Bilbo knew. If nothing else, Bilbo appreciated what that took from Thorin.

"Khazad are strong as the rock we are born from," Thorin started, slightly hesitant, brow still knitted as he sought for the right words. "We endure all that the fates cause to fall upon our race, and we stand strong. We endeavour to bring our Maker only pride, and we justify his faith in us with every tale of survival at all odds. The Kings of the Khazad stand as models of the pride and strength of the Dwarrow nations."

The sound that Dwalin made was soft and sad, as if he were used to Thorin's line of thinking, and had already jumped the steps ahead to Thorin's line of reasoning, but Bilbo was not at that stage just yet, and ignored it, smoothing a hand down Thorin's arm in support, and as a gentle nudge to continue.

"It is my right and responsibility to be that strength, to show our people that we may endure, even when it seems as if there is no hope. When the world falls to pieces around my people, I must stand amongst the rubble as a pillar of strength so that the people may find their own spirit and courage to continue, to find a way."

"I'm guessing, sometimes that seems terribly unfair," Bilbo said, when Thorin went silent, and Thorin took a deep breath, and released it all at once.

"When it seems, at times, as if I am cursed to fall back three steps for every one forward, in everything I do, then yes, it can become... difficult."

Bilbo said nothing, like Dwalin, letting Thorin organise his thoughts, wrestle them into the words, the ideas he wanted to convey.

"At times, I feel... singled out. There are Dwarrow that go their whole lives with nothing remarkable happening to them at all. Yet every scrap of contentment I scrape for myself and my family is met by obstacles and loss, and more scrabbling. I want normal, peaceful lives for my family, for my people, but always I find that woe befalls me, and in turn, my kin, my people, too. Am I cursed?"

"No," Bilbo and Dwalin both began at the same time, and exchanged a look, and then both quieted with a sigh to let Thorin continue.

"Always, I am different. Always, my path is never what I ever expected. Whenever I think I know what it is I have to do, I am caught by something I did not expect, could not expect, but still must stand still and strong, facing what comes."

"You could not have expected a Hobbit," Bilbo said quietly, and Thorin sighed, eyes closing for a moment.

"That you were a Hobbit really did not matter. That you were not a Dwarrow, and again, I was not permitted for things to be simple, _easy_ , just once, for this, in what should be a refuge of light in the tide of darkness, yes. I was terribly resentful. It had nothing to do with you, really. Just, another thing of mine, of _me_ , that had to be difficult. To be difficult for Dwalin because my life is never simple and easy, something else I had made hard for him. Another new challenge to stand strong and..."

"Endure," Bilbo finished for him, sighing when Thorin looked so terribly ashamed. "You goose," Bilbo chided, bringing Thorin's hand up to press a kiss to his big, broad palm. 

"I took it out on you," Thorin admitted. "I tried to tell you when I apologised, before. I made things terribly difficult for you because of my resentment, my inability to be strong."

"Does he always do this?" Bilbo asked Dwalin curiously. Dwalin sighed yet again, long and deep, and nodded. 

"Takes it all on as his own burden to bear. Always."

"We'll have to fix that," Bilbo mused, and Dwalin shrugged, grin teasing at the corners of his mouth again.

"I've been working at it for many a year, but I might just get him there with you to help me," he decided, and bussed a loud, bristly kiss on Thorin's cheek.

Thorin himself looked torn between irritation and bewilderment.

"Am I permitted to do _any_ wrong in your estimation, ever, or must I always be a poor misguided creature simply in need of love to guide me true?" Thorin asked with a fair whack of irritation, and Dwalin and Bilbo rolled their eyes at each other in their own shared irritation.

"The second one, obviously," Bilbo said tartly, and grinned when Thorin looked so terribly _put out_. "Really, what did you expect? I already knew this. Until very recently, I was sure that you loathed my existence! I am not suddenly going to believe that you've never held a poor opinion of me ever, and that knowing such a thing will put me off you for good."

"I never loathed you," Thorin said, pouting, _pouting_ , and goodness, Bilbo did not find that adorable, he did _not_. 

(Dwalin totally did, judging by the adoring look. Bilbo was not sporting the same look. He was not.)

"I know that now," Bilbo said, tearing his eyes from the pouting lips. They were so pretty. "I know that understanding what has passed between us over these many months will take time. I know that you worry, and I, well, I worry, too," Bilbo admitted. "I don't want past misunderstandings to come between what could develop between us now."

Dwalin nodded sharply, and growled a little under his breath. 

"Three months in each other's pockets, and really, we still don't know each other properly," he said, and the frustration on his face was plain to see.

"And yet, your character and strength, your morals, your determination; all of the core of you, I have come to know fully," Bilbo reminded him. 

Dwalin took a breath and nodded.

"I must admit to you, now, that I did not..." Bilbo huffed and held back a growl of irritation. How could he be honest with them of his side of the last few months, when he never intended to ever tell them the whole truth?

And was that the best decision?

"I never believed that you could ever truly want a Hobbit for a mate," he said carefully, choosing his words as truthfully as he could, without giving away the whole 'didn't know you were waiting to court me at all' thing. "I never acknowledged you, as potential mates, because I did not believe that you would find me a suitable option for yourselves. And I really did think that you loathed my very presence. It didn't seem as if that were to be the happiest of relationships, based on that alone."

"It-" Thorin started, and then stopped and frowned, shifting where he was still half draped over Dwalin's lap- and seemingly quite happy to stay there. "So, it wasn't because you found us lacking?"

Bilbo opened his mouth and then shut it again. Honestly, _what? ___

__"No," he said, when he realised that his pause might make them think otherwise. "Not at all."_ _

__The two stared at him for a long moment, and he stared right back._ _

__This was not going the way he had thought their walk would go._ _

__"As comfortable as this is," he said, wiggling on Dwalin's thigh a little (and he would definitely have to find himself perched back here again, oh yes he would; Dwalin had _large_ thighs, and the muscles ripple underneath him in a most becoming way). _ _

__"We are meant to be walking," Dwalin nodded, though he eyed Bilbo speculatively, and really, Bilbo was doomed now. Wouldn't be able to keep a thing from these two, now that they were watching closely for what pleased him about themselves._ _

__Silly gits. _Everything_ about them pleased him. _ _

__He distracted them both with saying so, and with soft, lingering kisses to their bristly cheeks before he pried himself off Dwalin's thigh and scrambled out of their rocky little hollow, grinning when the two Dwarrow sat dazed and smiling giddily for a moment at his pronouncement. (Or the kissing). Grinning again when they finally attempted to follow and had a slightly harder time dislodging themselves from their cosy spot._ _

__They said nothing for a bit while they walked, comfortable again, despite the more serious tone to the evening's conversation. Bilbo supposed it would be that way between them for a while. Despite the length of time they had indeed been in each other's pockets, they still had so much unspoken and misunderstood between them, that it would take a while to hammer out the old hurts and lingering doubts._ _

__Bilbo popped off the path for a moment, gathering a handful of bluebells and bringing them with him to weave, grinning to himself at the pretty blossoms dancing in the evening breeze._ _

__Somewhat appropriate, for his evening. He was so grateful, and so very in love._ _

__A few blooms he tucked into that lovely beard braid of Dwalin's, laughing when the big Dwarrow looked so terribly bemused, yet allowed his neat locks to be adorned with the pretty blue blooms. Thorin chuckled lowly behind him until Bilbo presented a few to tuck into his one of his braids, though even that was met only with a rueful grin._ _

__Bilbo laughed, spinning in place for a moment. The night truly was such a beautiful one, and they were safe here, in these lands, with nowhere to be for the moment. Bilbo had not felt so contented in months._ _

__"You are," Thorin said, all of a sudden, quiet and serious. "I do- rather, I mean to say. I do find you beautiful. Despite what I felt, in the beginning, I _know_ , now, I understand. How perfect you are. For us."_ _

__As lovely as that was to hear from Thorin now- and it was; the words left him warm from top to toe to hear it from Thorin's own mouth, so sincere and _real_ \- Bilbo felt himself dim a little._ _

__He snorted softly._ _

__"For a Hobbit," he muttered, and instantly regretted it when Thorin looked stricken and Dwalin shocked._ _

__"I-" Thorin started, and Bilbo knew what he would say, he knew, and he waved him quiet, so furious with himself all of a sudden, he could just scream._ _

__"No, not you, dearest, I just, I know that Dwarves are born pretty damn perfect, and Hobbits are just, not, so I'm just being, goodness, I don't know, petty? Ignore that."_ _

__"You're not being petty if you think that," Dwalin said, though he seemed terribly confused. Thorin however, looked highly suspicious._ _

__"Who told you that Dwarrow are born perfect?" he asked._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"That is an odd thing to 'know', as you say. Did you read such an odd thing in one of your books?"_ _

__"Oh, err, yes," Bilbo said, cutting his eyes to the side, and Dwalin snorted._ _

__"They've already been spilling secrets, haven't they?" Dwalin asked ruefully, a huff of amusement leaving him in one abrupt breath. "Cheeky lads."_ _

__Bilbo hummed, colouring a little. He didn't want the lads in trouble for trying to help him understand._ _

__"I... they did tell me a little?" he tried, not wanting to give much away._ _

__"They gave you their perfection shtick, didn't they?" Thorin guessed, already nodding. "They love that little speech. They assist Rísta with the little ones in... hmm. I don't know how to say it in common. Theoretical history, sort of? They love to give their speech about how perfect they are."_ _

__"So... they were playing me for a fool?" Bilbo asked, now confused. He'd thought them fairly sincere; they seem very serious about their culture and history in all of their meetings so far. He'd not expected them to be playing tricks with something they held so dear._ _

__"They were not," Thorin reassured. "But, they have been taught the old ways almost exclusively by my sister. Rísta is a princess by birth, and a snotty sort of person at the best of times, and she has certainly always given them the most idealistic view of that which she studies and protects._ _

__"You must understand," Thorin continued, when Bilbo frowned his way, "that we have had precious little to offer our people for many, many years now. For all that we have not been able to give our children riches or splendour, comfort or prosperity, or even at times the very bare necessities, we have always made sure to at least give them the comfort that they are loved, and that they do not deserve what has befallen our clan."_ _

__The way Thorin said this last part was melancholy and haunted, and Bilbo halted Thorin abruptly with one quelling hand._ _

__"And yet you sound as if you do not believe this yourself."_ _

__"What?" Thorin looked startled, eyebrow raising in query, as if he had not even heard himself as he had spoken._ _

__"You said that you make sure your children know that you do not deserve the fate that has been offered, but you don't sound as if you believe it," Bilbo said, frowning now. He had a startling idea he knew where this was going._ _

__Dwalin was awfully quiet, and falling back a little, and although Bilbo knew he was trying to give them some space for the conversation, he did not want to lose him in the forest, so he absently leant back and snagged one of those big (big, _big_ , so nice) hands, and tugged him along behind them._ _

__"Of course I believe it. My people do not-"_ _

__"We," Bilbo interrupted. Thorin's eyes widened._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"Say 'We do not deserve the life that has been forced upon us'. Say it."_ _

__Thorin stared at him for a long moment, before he gazed off to the side, brow furrowed, and Bilbo thought he would turn and walk away, but he nodded and turned back and met Bilbo's eyes, gaze serious._ _

__"We... do not deserve this life. _We_ deserve better," he said, and his tone was almost certain._ _

__Bilbo would push, he really would, but they were still, really, only just becoming comfortable with one another. If all went as planned, Bilbo would have his whole life to find Thorin's insecurities and doubts and beat them back, bolster their silly love in any way he could. Dwalin seemed pleased, at any rate, if the squeeze of his hand around Bilbo's was any indication._ _

__So, he hurumphed, and eyed Thorin suspiciously, but gestured for him to go on._ _

__"So you make sure that your children have a strong faith to fall back on in hard times."_ _

__"We do. If nothing else, we can emphasise that they have done nothing to deserve their place in life, that our Maker has made us as we are meant to be, and the weaver's threads will guide us to a better place eventually. We can give them hope that they are not abandoned, that they have purpose in the grand tapestry, and that there is hope."_ _

__"That makes a lot of sense," Bilbo admitted. "So, you're saying that the lads are a little..."_ _

__"Extreme? Sometimes. They no doubt were very excited to introduce things to you and were a little enthusiastic in the telling of it."_ _

__"So all Dwarves _don't_ think they are perfect then?"_ _

__Thorin laughed, a soft curling sound that made Bilbo's stomach flutter with something something._ _

__"Well, a fair whack of us do, but that's because we _are_ ," he said with an arrogant sniff, and laughed again when Bilbo huffed and took a swipe at his arm, and Dwalin laughed quietly and squeezed his hand again. "Our beliefs fall more into the idea that we are _all_ exactly as we are meant to be. Some call that perfection, but really, they only way they are perfect, is perfect as _themselves_."_ _

__Bilbo frowned. Honestly, it didn't sound much different than what the lads had been sprouting._ _

__"You are Bilbo," Thorin said, "And you have toffee curls that glint gold in the sun, you favour your left foot when you stride, and you greatly enjoy any dish made with berries. When you are displeased, your button nose wrinkles, and three creases appear when you do. You don't suffer fools with patience, but you try hard to keep your impatience to yourself, and you have a kind heart. You are terribly impulsive at the most ridiculous of times, but you favour preparedness and organisation in your life. You have a splash of fine freckles across the back of your neck, despite continuously wearing a kerchief. All these things, inconsequential or not, come together perfectly to make a Bilbo, and no other person can be Bilbo, and so everything about you is perfect because it makes a Bilbo. They would not be the perfect features to make a Dwalin or a Bofur. They make a Bilbo, and that is a fine thing."_ _

__Bilbo huffed quietly, not quite able to find the words to respond to that just at this moment, and so stayed silent, focusing for a moment on enjoying the quiet of the evening, the cool of the breeze on the fine early Autumn eve._ _

__"You were worried, that Kíli's little 'Dwarves are perfection' speech meant that we thought you imperfect for being a Hobbit?" Thorin asked abruptly, some moments later, and Bilbo started a little, and stared at Thorin, who was eyeing him intently. "And I did not help much, with my confession of my feelings, from the beginning of our turbulent relationship."_ _

__"I don't need a Dwarrow's validation to feel fine as myself," Bilbo sniffed, and Thorin grinned, while Dwalin chuckled quietly behind them again. He seemed determined to give them this discussion._ _

__Oh, that ridiculous happiness. Bilbo's heart could barely take that pleased, unrestrained happiness on that face, he really couldn't. It just made his heart about burst with pleasure._ _

__"It's very comforting that you do not feel yourself superior to _Elves_ , though," Bilbo said, to distract himself, and Thorin snorted, too pleased to be uppity at the mention._ _

__"As much as I would like to tell you that they do not have a place in this land," he started, grimacing, and Dwalin laughed again, "as much as I would _really_ like to tell you that their existence is a crime against the song of the universe, I cannot. An Elf is no less or more perfect than a Dwarrow, because they are an Elf, and cannot be any other being than an Elf. Each Elf is a perfect Elf, and their purpose has not been revealed to us."_ _

__"Oh," Bilbo said slowly._ _

__"The sons and daughters of Man make perfect Men because they _are_. Hobbits make perfect Hobbits, as well," Dwalin chimed in finally, "And Hobbits that happen to be perfect for Dwarrow and a bit different to other Hobbits yet not quite like a Dwarrow are pretty perfect as well. _Very_ perfect, in our opinion."_ _

__Bilbo huffed and coloured, and Thorin laughed, a carefree laugh that had both Dwalin and Bilbo staring happily at such a beautiful sight._ _

__Thorin himself went pink when he noticed their looks, ducking his head and grinning when he noticed their sappy smiles were turned on himself, and Bilbo and Dwalin exchanged love-struck grins and found themselves both pink and grinning at the ground themselves, and Bilbo was certain, as he steered them back in the direction of the Smial, that they likely looked ridiculous, all besotted morons grinning at the ground._ _

__"Please, don't worry yourself too much over anything you have learnt from the lads so far," Thorin said, when they neared the entrance to the Smial. "We didn't intend for lessons to start yet."_ _

__"Balin said that we should all concentrate on courting, not dizzying you with lessons on cultural norms," Dwalin said, pinking again in a shy manner that Bilbo found delightful._ _

__"Balin and Glóin and Óin, were compiling a list of things you ought to know, at some stage, and technicalities, and legalities and such," Thorin said. "Dori and Bifur appropriated the list for a while, and Bombur and Nori took it and expressed very severe impressions over it, and then Bofur and Ori berated the lot of them and rewrote it."_ _

__"And now Balin and our cousins are going through it more carefully now, and ultimately, it was decided that we all had enough on our plates to be confusing the issue with teaching you a whole bunch of things that, well...."_ _

__Dwalin trailed off, but Bilbo was no fool, thank you very much._ _

__"Things I might have no interest in learning? Things that might scare me off our new and tentative courtship before you had a chance to convince me otherwise? Especially since for so long there was no guarantee that there would be any sort of courting at all?"_ _

__"Something like that," Dwalin admitted, and Thorin cleared his throat and tried to look stoic, and Bilbo laughed, and spun, leaning back against the trunk of the tree that stood in front of the entrance to the deep-built smial._ _

__"I think there is very little that could be said or done to make me reconsider a life with the two of you, now. I quite think I'm rather determined to do anything I can to stay with the both of you for as long as I can."_ _

__Again with the foolishly besotted grins, ones that Bilbo was sure he was returning just as foolishly, but really, these two gits were just so beautiful, and they were Bilbo's, they were really his, and this whole courting thing was happening, and he could still scarcely believe it. He thought he'd earned the right to stand and grin like an idiot in love._ _

__Really, they were so very beautiful, that Bilbo felt that this really was the best time to practice some more of those amazing kisses that they seemed capable of participating in. The other two looked to be in agreement to his unspoken decision, by the way they both looked suddenly very predatory, and Bilbo shivered head to toe at the way their bodies moved, sleek and rippling, despite their bulk, all intent on boxing him in, capturing him for kisses._ _

__Which Bilbo, unfortunately, did not receive, being that Bifur took that as his cue to appear from around the tree, making what sounded like low threats of dire consequences -judging by the suddenly terrified looks of both Dwalin and Thorin- and tugged Bilbo away around the tree and into the dimly lit staircase leading down into the Smial._ _

__" _Bi_ fuuuuuuur," Bilbo whined, sighing, though he could not knock the smile of contentment off his face when his brother started what sounded like a gentle lecture, though Bilbo understood not one whit of it._ _

__Really, Bilbo thought, he had found himself rather fortunate in all sorts of love, lately._ _

__****_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I would like to say there will be more very soon, but I have surgeries next week, and I'll be knocked off my feet for a few weeks, I should imagine. As soon as I am comfy enough to sit up in bed with a laptop, I'll be back on the case. Most of the work I've been running around with at school will be too much for me for a while, so I'm off the hook there for a few weeks. Let's see how much spare time I will have when I am not volunteering in four classrooms!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, peeps!
> 
> EDIT: Mistake is now fixed; thank you to those that pointed that out. I have no idea how that happened. Surgeries, for those that enquired, went alright last week, and I am now in the exhausting recovery stage. If I could stay awake for more than three minutes, that would be awesome, lols. Thanks for the kind words, nice peeps! Update as soon as I can stare at a screen without nodding off, promise.

**Author's Note:**

> For anybody interested in the type of fire Bilbo has them build here, do look up the Dakota Fire Hole. It is, in fact, a great survivalist fire to know how to build, as it is easier to control, and has a far more focused heat than a normal fire. For the military survivalists amongst us, it is also a great way of dispersing your smoke signal, instead of announcing your position for miles around. Another reason Bilbo would have wanted this particular fire.
> 
> I would highly recommend purchasing rabbit from a licenced seller if you want to try it, but if you do go ahead and trap a wild one, be VERY careful to check for parasites and other signs of ill health, and never, ever bust the bile duct. Ew. Just, ew.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Behind Blue Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268099) by [ferowyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn)




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